Life in Mono
by The Shameless Hussies
Summary: An ohyouprettythings-lionessrampant84 production! Life goes on and on for the immortal Will Turner. No end in sight. No release. No happiness. When he's sure that his heart can no longer love, along comes Olivia Crane... Modern Willabeth or WillXOC?
1. Who Wants To Live Forever?

DISCLAIMER: Neither lionessrampant84 nor oh-you-pretty-things owns any part of the Pirates of The Caribbean franchise. The aforementioned franchise and its characters belong to the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: Annnnnnd, we're back. So this is a little...different. We're not sure how to classify it, but we assure the Willabethers that they'll like it. I swear. So, for clarification's sake, lionessrampant84 and I have opened a new account for our joint work. And, for clarification with this story: I (oh-you-pretty-things) will be writing Will, or the odd chapters, and lionessrampant84 will be writing the even chapters. Thanks for reeeeeeeeeeading. 3_

_**Warning: Story contains disturbing content. It is rated M for a reason. Herein lies character death, suicide, and sexual content. Ye be warned, young 'uns. If you're easily offended by these topics, it's best you don't continue.**_

**Chapter 1 – Who Wants to Live Forever? **

_There's no time for us  
There's no place for us  
What is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away from us  
Who wants to live forever  
Who wants to live forever...?_

_There's no chance for us  
Its all decided for us  
This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us_

Who wants to live forever  
Who wants to live forever?  
Who dares to love forever?  
When love must die

But touch my tears with your lips  
Touch my world with your fingertips  
And we can have forever  
And we can love forever  
Forever is our today  
Who wants to live forever  
Who wants to live forever?  
Forever is our today  
Who waits forever anyway?

_-Queen_

* * *

"Have you ever been in love, Will?"

My face tightened into a wry smile. Why do they always ask that question? Why? Why do women equate sex with love? I looked down at her, bleach blonde hair splayed across black, silk sheets, big blue eyes full of youthful hope and invigoration. If I could see that, could she see how old my eyes were? Not likely. She wouldn't recognize it until many, many years from now, if she even remembers me.

Love. Had I ever been in love? What a question. Love is fickle, little girl. Love has many forms. Love is twisted and warped over time. Love can sometimes be intertwined with hate. Sometimes I wonder if that's all love is: a manifestation of hate. I've heard that the line between love and hate is thin. I disagree. It's non-existent. Have I ever been in love? Sure. Thousands of times. I was in love with my mother who raised me and cared for me, I was in love with my father who disappeared from my life for seventeen years, I was in love with the ocean, in love with swordplay, in love with danger although I would never have admitted it then. Have I ever been in love? Sure.

I know what she means though. She means have I ever looked at a woman and had my heart explode within my chest. Have I ever met someone who awakened things I didn't even know I had in me. Have I ever wanted to give myself to that person entirely. Have I ever wanted to grow old with her. Have I ever wanted to have children with her. Have I ever held someone in my arms and known that no one would replace her. Have I? I thought so. When I opened my eyes, so near to death, and found an angel hovering nearby, I was certain that I'd died already. But angels don't have names like Elizabeth Swann. Angels don't steal their father's brandy and ply the local blacksmith's apprentice with it. Angels don't get kidnapped by pirates. They don't turn down men of influence to marry me. They certainly don't kiss pirates named Jack Sparrow. They don't give you days like that one on the beach. Maybe they do... Angels do not beat their fists against your chest and scream and cry because you've been taken from her again for another ten years. Angels don't resent.

Have I ever been in love? I kissed her head softly, giving some semblance of being a caring individual when in truth as soon as she was asleep I'd be gone from her life forever.

"I don't believe in love."

* * *

I waited until I was a good block away to slow my pace and pull out a cigarette. I watched a hooker attempt to strike a deal with someone in a car with tinted windows. Apparently he'd not been willing to pay her price because now she was kicking his back tire as he sped away. Such is life. I looked away before she saw me and mistook my passing interest as more. I sucked in deeply, allowing the sweet addictive burst of nicotine to wash through me. Pulling the cigarette from my mouth, I looked at it as though I'd never seen it before.

"You should quit," the hooker called across the street, pulling out a cigarette of her own, "These things'll kill you."

I smiled, nodded, walked on. Kill me? Not bloody likely. I'm willing to bet that in a half an hour, my lungs will be as pink as a baby's. I paused at the street corner even though there were no cars. I took another drag of my cigarette. The little man made of white lights appeared, but I was lost somewhere in suppressed memories. The first time I smoked a cigarette, which was far more flavourful than the death stick in my hand now, I was in Turkey, a hapless minion in the Crimean War. I was trying to die. Again. Oh, it was awful. I'd been run through with a machete, my left arm was barely attached. I thought for sure that I'd done it this time, but a few hours later when soldiers had been sent out to look for their dead, they found me very much alive. Sure, the blood was still there, the gaping hole in my shirt, the missing arm of my shirt, but I was intact. It was maddening.

I remember running, laughing, through deserts of dead people. It was like running through a valley of lovely red flowers if you scrunched your eyes up and ignored the squishing beneath your feet. I met a farmer named Abaza who took me in, cleaned me up, and shoved a cigarette in my mouth. I didn't know why he bothered to help me, I couldn't understand a word he said. Needless to say that Turkish was the second language that I learned.

I walked into the street despite the fact that the orange hand was blaring furiously. A car swerved and honked, the driver cursing at me angrily. I smiled and waved, like I always did. Am I mad? No. I just have no reason to be concerned anymore. I've been shot, hit by horses, hit by cars, I've even been in a plane crash. And, of course, I've been stabbed, many, many times. In fact, that's what started this whole thing.

I don't know how many times I've wondered if I had just gone with my gut and refused that commission to make that bloody sword to begin with whether I would be dead and gone now. Sure, I would have sacrificed Elizabeth in the process, but really, a normal life with Norrington would have been preferable to a man she saw a total of four times following our wedding day. I'm not making assumptions, she told me so herself.

I practically tumbled down the stairs to the subway. Oh, I've done that a few times, too. My cigarette was gone now. All these nonsensical 'no smoking' laws of the self important, ultra healthy twenty-first century are killing my few remaining joys. I tossed myself into a seat and watched a woman wrestle her three young, exhausted children onto the carriage. Why did she have children on the train at two in the morning? She had a bruise on her face and I came up with my own ideas about her reasons. One thing I've learned is to never assume. But, the next thing I learned was that making assumptions made my life far more interesting.

One of the children whined about being tired. Now there is something that I've been relatively spared from – whining children. Elizabeth and I had one child. I can only assume that William was the result of residual sperm in my body after death because there is simply no other explanation. He shouldn't have been. I saw him twice before he was married and off on his own.

The first visit had been a joy. What could be more fun than playing with the amazing child that my beloved Elizabeth and I had made? A miracle child. He was still interested in me then. The second visit was downright unpleasant. I was accused of abandonment. I was accused of lying. I was hated. William then became the poison in our relationship. Elizabeth had begun to believe him. It had begun to sink in. Was he wrong? I still don't know, but I was glad to be back on the Dutchman following that day. I never saw him in person again. Elizabeth had shown me his family from a distance, a sick pantomime of what our life should have been. I should have been happy for my son. I should have been pleased that my flesh and blood was privy to everything that I was not, but when I looked at my wife, then fifty-two years old and looking worse for the wear, I was _resentful_.

Thankfully my stop came quickly. I can't bear to look at children knowing that their innocence will be lost and that one day they will become a horrible adult like everyone else. The March air in Liverpool was more than a little brisk. I walked quickly. I owned an old factory building by the ocean. A quarter of the building was a textile company that rented the space, a quarter was my "studio" also known as my smithy, and the entire second floor was my loft. Big, empty space filled with all my accumulated treasure. One might wonder where a penniless, stature-less blacksmith had accumulated wealth. The answer to that query is simple: inflation. I am a pack rat. I held onto everything that reminded me of Elizabeth and my home in Port Royal, which sunk by the way, to add insult to injury. Little did I know that with the dawning of the industrial revolution, all these things would become "antiques" and would be worth a ridiculous amount of money. I was ready to be rid of them by then, too.

My loft was empty and silent, much like my life. I revelled in it, to be honest. I grew so used to silence, opening my mouth only to shout orders at my crew, that now I simply must live this way. I collapsed onto my bed. The amazing reality of my situation was that although I was immortal in every sense of the word, I still needed to rest. I closed my eyes and could almost feel the waves beneath me. I had served Calypso's purpose for fifty years. And Elizabeth had died at the age of sixty-nine. When I returned to Port Royal it had sunk, not that it mattered, really. Elizabeth would have been given a pauper's funeral with a handful of people who knew her from the market. Wherever she was buried, she was now lost to the sea. I was two years too late and I never forgave Calypso for it.

And I was undone. There seemed no reason to go on with this bloody "noble" task. No reason not to set foot on land whenever I wanted. My home was gone. My wife was gone. My purpose was gone. I stayed at the cliff, unmoving, unfeeling. I stayed there for days, weeks, until finally I realized that the Dutchman was gone and I was still on land. And, on land is where I've stayed. I don't know if Calypso forgot about me, or if she simply vanished like every other god on the planet, but here I am still, two hundred and sixty-six years old. Am I doomed to walk this dying planet until it self-destructs? After several suicide attempts, I'm willing to believe that.

* * *

After a time, I started to see Elizabeth in every woman I met. It didn't matter if she were white, black, or asian – she was Elizabeth. I drowned myself in women then. Every woman was Elizabeth, so why shouldn't I have? But now I know better. Now I can discern between the women who look similar to Elizabeth, those who have the same colouring, and those who have her attitude. Now I can choose who I go home with at night. The ones who look like her are preferable. It's easier to make believe that way. After all, love is an illusion. Love is a dream. I can't love anyone, if I even loved at all to begin with.

I suppose that's the truth right there. I convinced myself that I was in love with Elizabeth Swann at the age of twelve and I never let the infatuation go. I'd been willing to die for her, but in my experience that means nothing more than youthful bravado. Of course at age twenty I'd risk my life to save her from pirates, it's what had to be done. At age twenty-one, I was ready to marry her. But, at age twenty-one I discovered how fickle infatuation could be. At age twenty-one Elizabeth Swann betrayed my heart. At age twenty-two she earned it back.

I married Elizabeth knowing that I would die that day. The odds were totally against us all, but at least I would have my Elizabeth in name only. At least I'd have that to say to the angels when I got to the gate. I married the woman who I love and adored. Certainly there is nothing nobler than that. I never expected to live. I never expected to live forever. She pulled me back so cruelly. She made me stay conscious well beyond my time. Why couldn't she have just let me go? Why couldn't Jack have been selfish just this once? He should have let her cry, get over it, move on. In a year's time she would have married him or someone else or whatever. Fool. Instead he gave us our day once every ten years which in the end was far more painful than my death ever would have been. I can never forgive Jack Sparrow no matter how apathetic I have become.

I had to admire Elizabeth's strength and dedication to me. It must have been young Will who had tied her to me further. It was a shame, really. She should have been able to live the life she deserved. She should have been free of me. She settled for an absent husband based on an infatuation which was only lost over time. Not her lifetime, obviously. She was unwavering. She kept me going. Oh no, it wasn't until years later that I realized how little there was to our relationship. Stolen glances, hidden kisses, young passion. But, she grew old alone and I stayed twenty-two forever. As it's only fair, there is no room for stolen glances in my heart now.

* * *

I tried to go to university in 1892. I felt that the only thing left for me after ninety years alone. Unfortunately university at the time was nothing more than pretentious thinkers who found a new way to waste time. I left university within the same year, bored out of my skull. From there, I did everything you can think of. I travelled the world and learned more about human nature than I ever needed to. This knowledge only made me want to end it all the more urgently. Yet I failed horribly each time.

In 1987, I had a mad notion that my heart must be somewhere in the ocean near Port Royal. If I could stab the heart, I could end it all for good. I organized an enormous diving expedition. They pulled up forty-five treasure chests over those six weeks, none of which were the Dead Man's chest. At the very least, I had more "antiqued" money to invest.

In 1997 I threw myself in front of a charging rhinoceros in Kenya. This is probably the most recent suicide attempt to date and all I accomplished with that was a lot of pain and a successfully faked death. Faking my death has been the most reasonable way to deal with my so called life. I hadn't been Will Turner since 1903 and now that I am again, I find it refreshing.

Last year I decided to try living again. I enrolled in university again if only to have something to do. My perpetual appearance of youth works well for this task, but my lack of social skills disrupts everything. Who believes that a twenty-two year old man would rather curl up with a physics textbook than drink himself stupid?

I am studying Architecture. Why? I'm not really sure. I can draw well; I learned that on the Dutchman. I have an appreciation for structure, a result of understanding the working of metals. I suppose that's all I have going for me at present. Also, being enrolled in university gives me access to all types of books on every subject. Maybe I could find a way to kill myself effectively. I doubt it, but you never know - I did consider once in class that I could be encased in cement. How could my body possibly withstand that? Then again, I'd likely be there, conscious and alone, forever.

Sadly this is how the immortal Will Turner spends his life, contemplating death and building structures.


	2. Silver Lining

Disclaimer: Neither oh-you-pretty-thing nor myself own the characters, plot lines, objects, etc

**Disclaimer: Neither oh-you-pretty-thing nor myself own the characters, plot lines, objects, etc. that you may recognize from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies.**

_**AN:**__ Ok, so here goes nothing._

_Reviews are love. I would especially like feedback. Please?_

_Please don't kill me._

_-LR84_

**Chapter 2 – Silver Lining**

_And I was your silver lining_

_High upon my toes_

_While you were running through fields of hitchhikers_

_As the story goes_

_Hooray, hooray, I'm your silver lining_

_Hooray, hooray, but now, I'm gold_

_-Rilo Kiley_

I opened my eyes and looked down. Sure enough, I was standing in the surf, the cute little flats I had just picked up getting ruined by the saltwater. I smiled and shrugged; the warm, fragrant air on my face felt far too nice for me to be upset at something as silly as salty shoes. It was sunset, always sunset, and I looked down at myself. As per usual, I was wearing a pair of jeans and a rather loud neon blue t-shirt that I had tastefully covered with a black sweater. It was far too hot for that black sweater here, tasteful as it was.

I looked around. Sure enough, I was totally alone. From time to time, I would see a distant figure approaching, but he or she had yet to make it to me, or was intent to always leave me alone. But this time, there was no such figure. And the water in front of me could not look any more inviting if it tried.

Spending my waking days in Liverpool, I had of course been in the ocean, but not one like this. There was this lush, blue, limitless ocean in front of me, not the drab grey English one. I was surrounded by volcanic rock, so I placed myself somewhere in the Pacific, and the sand was fine and squishy, not course and tough. I had always, always wanted to swim in the ocean for real, and, I reasoned mischieviously, there was no time like the present; the fact that I was without a bathing suit notwithstanding. I flipped off my soggy shoes and started to unbutton my sweater. I just about had the thing off when the disembodied voice began.

"Olivia," it stated simply.

I spun around, trying to place the voice. I even looked up at the sky as though some deity were up there calling to me. However, there was still no one around. Perhaps it was just the water _literally_ calling to me. I shrugged and threw my sweater off to the side. I pulled my shirt off. I had always_, always_ been fascinated by the ocean. That's why I had come to Liverpool in the first place, however, the ocean there paled in comparison to this.

"Olivia?"

The voice was awfully familiar, but I still couldn't quite figure it out. I waited for a second, to see if anything would happen. Nothing did. So, naturally, I took off my jeans.

"Oh. Liv. Ee. Ah."

So, it was clear that something, or someone, rather, was watching me stand here in my bra and panties for reasons unknown. I looked around once again, careful to check the direction the ambiguous figure sometimes approached from. Nothing. There was clearly no one here. Honestly, I couldn't figure out why it made so much difference to me anyway, I knew exactly what was going on, minus the voice, which had never happened before. At any rate, I gave up on it, shed my underwear and approached the water.

"OLIVIA!"

And then, everything went black. And a matter of seconds later, I was in my flat, on my bed, tattered flannel sheets and all, looking presumably quite bedraggled. I turned and found myself looking at my roommate, who was upside down. Or perhaps I was upside down. Being on the beach always disoriented me when I woke up, but as far as recurring dreams go, it was a good one to have. It certainly beats something unpleasant like one of those falling or chasing dreams.

"Liv, I'm sorry to wake you up," my roommate began. She was not actually sorry. "but I'm leaving for work and I just wanted to remind you to leave a check for utilities so that I can pay the bills. Also, remember to do your dishes and clean up the…"

It wasn't ideal, but she meant well. She was simply the kind of person who needed everything in its proverbial right place in life, and I typically was able to stay out of her way. She didn't spend much time here anyway, what with some boyfriend in the area, so we let things slide fairly often. Or she did. But sharing a place was the only way I could afford to live presently, being a student with a meager waitressing income. And I absolutely needed to be on my own. An overbearing roommate was a totally fair price to pay for this.

I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled drowsily through the hallway and into the bathroom. I turned on the shower and let the hot water wake me up, looking down at myself as I washed up. Apparently, my body had gotten about halfway through puberty and decided at that point that it was done. As a result, I was all long, gangly limbs with elbows and hipbones sticking out every which way, no curves to speak of and flat, shoulder length brown hair. I had developed big plans to become a blond, which hadn't panned out yet. But, all things in due time.

Refreshed, I got out of the shower and washed my face, studying myself in the mirror. I did have a nice set of pouty lips, at least. And I had always liked having amber eyes; eyes which presently squinted as a result of the sunlight that was streaming through the windows. Sun like this was a rare sight to behold in Liverpool. I smiled. It was Friday, it was sunny and it would be a glorious day. I only had two classes and the rest of the day open to enjoy. The possibilities were nearly overwhelming. I dressed myself in a pair of skinny jeans (the major perk to having long, skinny legs, after all), the flats that had not actually been ruined by salt water and a shirt as electric as my mood.

I gathered my things haphazardly into a tattered old messenger bag, eager to get outside and, nearly forgetting to do so, made a sort of half-assed attempt to wash dishes and set them in the rack as fast as I could. Then, I nearly left the building without writing the check. I wrote it out, my left leg and first born in exchange for cooking gas, and very whimsically looped the O to the other letters in Olivia and dramatically swept the C into the other letters in Crane, my surname. Just another manifestation of my sunshine-induced good mood.

And don't you know it, I literally smiled when I saw my little fixie sitting outside, chained to the gate. It was, in reality, a complete piece of junk, but that had been nothing a jar of pink paint couldn't fix.

Riding my bicycle was, in all honesty, one of my favorite activities. I hoped it would be a taste of things to come for me; the wind was in my hair, the sun was on my face, the freedom it allowed me... For my entire life, I had craved adventure. I wanted to travel everywhere, I wanted to meet all kinds of people, I wanted to be a part of something big. I wanted romance. I got on my bike and decided that today I would take the long way to the University.

My father, of course, would have none of this. I had grown up in the Lake District up north in Keswick and he was a cleryman. There came with that, which was _his_ choice and _his_ life, several expectations for me. I had to maintain a certain set of beliefs. I had to appear a certain way in public. Everything, from my dress to the people I had chosen to associate with were up for scrutiny. Not to mention that my father believed wholeheartedly all of the drivel he was spouting.

So, I had my adolescence dressing modestly, praying, being a model citizen, condemning the life choices or certain people, being a model citizen some more and not dating. Or, at least, not choosing the people I dated. Sure, I had always wanted to go on an airplane and go on fun trips; and the few movies and television shows I'd been allowed to watch had put a few ideas in my head of fantastic schemes I could undertake, but all of that was true for any ordinary child. And I could sense in the other pre-teen girls in the village that feeling stifled was a normal thing. It was when I first fell in love that thing took a turn for the worse.

His name was Brian. We were classmates and nothing more; he was one of the few people in the town who didn't go to my father's church. From the first time we spoke, it was instantly clear to me and the feeling took hold in my gut and didn't let go. There was something about him that was incredibly attractive to me from the beginning, and it became clear very quickly that it had everything to do with the way he spoke. He was intelligent and compassionate, mild-mannered and calm. He was attentive, and caring, too, but it was, looking back, what he talked about that made me love him the most. He was an activist, and so were his parents. They would travel to distant places simply to help the people there, to expose all of the wrongdoing in the world. Wrong committed by people like me that I had never been aware of! Brian had opened up the world for me, and I loved what I saw. He had been so self-assured, his quiet confidence was simply seductive.

My father, of course, wasn't excited about me spending so much time around Brian. Of all the people in the community I could have chosen to spend time with, and I had chosen one of the few unacceptable people. He didn't say anything at first, my father, because I could tell he had convinced himself that it was just a phase. That my heart was clearly incapable of loving at the tender young age of 15. But, he was, well, wrong. I loved my little heart right into sneaking out at all hours of the night to be with Brian. I lied to my father pretty constantly, which I had felt bad about, but my heart could not be ignored. I _had_ to be with Brian in those frenzied months, just _had_ to be.

So, I followed my heart right out of the window at night, and directly into Brian's bed. There was no hesitation for me. None. It felt right, it made me feel closer to Brian, and I loved him. I was just so swept away and I never wanted it to end. I believed that we could make it last. I so wanted to, to never have to stop feeling that way.

Very few things have the power to genuinely upset me, but when Brian's family moved to London to be among the other activists, I was upset. I was 17 and I cried. I wrote in a journal. I drowned myself in Joni Mitchell songs. I even cried in front of my father, whose comments at the time were the straw that broke the camel's back. He had basically told me, in no uncertain terms, that it hadn't been like I was going to marry the guy, not that he would have allowed it. That it was just a wasteful, fleeting teenage crush. That, as his daughter, I had more important things to keep in the front of my mind. In short, that my feelings didn't matter. Only his image, only the life he felt most comfortable with me living.

I left home that week, having decided that there was nothing left for me in a place where love and happiness didn't really seem to be a priority and where my need to travel and my desire to help other people would not be taken seriously. I made big plans to get down to London to reunite with Brian, but I found out very quickly that trying to get around the country as a penniless 17 year old was anything but easy. I ended up with a friend, refused to go home despite attempts by my father to force me, finished up my last few months of school and made arrangements to start at University of Liverpool in the fall. It had been difficult. I had taken out loans and had been working hugely long shifts as a waitress in the city. But it was worth every minute of it.

This was my last year. I would be done in a matter of weeks.

I turned the corner onto campus and immediately saw Abercromby Square absolutely teeming with students. Apparently, I hadn't been the only one who wanted to be outside as much as possible. Some of them sat in small groups the shade, some of the them were lying out with bellies bared towards the sun (not that it would do anything), some of them were making an effort to study. I only had two classes today, first microeconomics, then Neoclassical. Just two classes. Then, I would be free to sit outside or ride my bike or do whatever else I wanted. A mere 2 hours of commitment, then freedom.

I quickly locked my bike to a rack, then made my way through the square. It didn't take long for me to recognize my mates scattered among the various slackers. First there was Gwen, beautiful, curvy, mocha-skinned, shiny-haired Gwen. She was loveable, of course, and provided me with a steady stream of party invitations. And, I would be lying if I said I didn't appreciate that. I loved to go out and dance, especially. I loved to meet people, too. And here, Gwen was laying in a big crowd of new people. I couldn't resist, despite having to be at econ in exactly 12 minutes.

"Ohhhhlivia!" she yelled from below.

"Gwenny!" I leaned down and we pecked each other's cheeks; our standard, overly exuberant and highly glamorous greeting ritual.

"Hey girl. You look cute today!" she said, grabbing at my cheerful, day-glo shirt. Everyone was looking at Gwen, and me as well, sort of quizzically. Gwen would likely forget to introduce us. It was just her way.

"I don't think I've met all of you," I said, smiling and sitting down in their circle. 10 minutes to microeconomics. I would still make it there in time.

"Oh, right. This is Olivia Crane. Livs, this is everyone." She pointed around the circle. "Max, Jen, Katie, Josh and Rob."

We got to talking and, as it turned out, I had five new mates in a matter of minutes. Typically, this is how it went, especially around someone like Gwen whose presence only played up the fact that I have never in my life met a stranger. Max was majoring in art history and worked at a coffee shop in town. He fancied himself a brooding artist, I could tell, and likely took himself far too seriously. Jen and Katie were roommates and were both communications majors. Nice girls, very sweet, but unlike Max, did not take themselves seriously at all. Josh was a guitarist and he played at the coffee shop Max worked at. He seemed to be a kind soul; painfully sweet, mild-mannered, easily put in his place. He also seemed to be completely someone I would fall for. Rob was the most aggressive of the bunch; fancied a conquest. I could tell by the way he looked at me.

People fascinated me. I couldn't help it. I also couldn't help that I enjoyed being the center of attention, something that was granted to the newcomer to the group. In fact, they barely spoke after their introductions, but as they grilled me, I read them like books. After a while, I forced myself to look at my watch, out of a sense of duty to my education. Three minutes to econ. I seriously considered ditching the class, but remembered that we had a test. Shit! I would have to go. But, Neoclassical was less important. I stood up, making a mental note to skip the class and enjoy this glorious weather instead. You only live once, after all.

"Sorry, guys," I began. "I've got class."

"Class? On a day like this?" Rob asked.

I shrugged. "Sadly, yes."

"Hey," Katie started, "we're all going to meet at Mood tonight for some drinks. And it's hip-hop night. You should come."

Hip hop night? There was nothing like dancing at hip-hop night. There was simply no way I could resist. "Yeah, bril. I'll be there!"

Katie smiled. "Bring whoever. It'll be a big group of us."

I got up and hopped off to econ, which was thankfully in a building adjacent to the square. The inside of the building was cold, cavernous and dark and, once inside, I began to trudge up the stairs as though I were being walked to my death. I opened the door to the classroom and my professor grabbed it from behind me. I smiled sheepishly. Right. Just in time.

Much to my frustration, the professor insisted on talking before she handed out the test, therefore completely ruining any chance that we would be let out early. I didn't hear a word she was saying. I tried to make good use of the time by looking over my notes. I tried to get my mind to focus on her words. I tried to count sheep or play I-spy with myself. But, for some reason, I was completely fidgety and wound up. My heart was hammering inside my chest. Had I had too much coffee this morning? No, I hadn't had any. Was I sick? No, I didn't think so. I mean, it was a nice day, but as soon as I had left that square, I had felt pulled back to it. And right now, I felt this weird magnetism. To the _square_ of all things! Rob and Co. had been nice, and all, but I had certainly never reacted like this.

I shook my foot through the entire test. I nearly chewed off the top of my pen. Even I was taking the damn test, I shuddered to think of the grade I would wind up with. Finally, finally, I finished the exam and turned it in. I almost literally bolted out of the classroom, down the hall and out the doors.

Had I expected to be filled with relief upon getting out to the square? I suppose I had. After all, perceptive as I normally was, I had no idea what my brain was on about. I wasn't relieved, at least not completely, though my heart had slowed down just a little bit. There was still this strange expectant flutter in the pit of my stomach. Stranger still was that it was weirdly familiar, but I couldn't place it.

I sighed. It wasn't worth getting worked up over, in any case. I walked through the students, a little surprised that none of my mates were still out. Ah, well. There was a very sunny spot on the steps of the gazebo and I made my way to it. I stuck my pen in my mouth, still feeling the need to chew on something.

The sun felt fantastic on my skin. I should have been worried about burning or whatever, but after such a long, grey, wet winter, my translucent English skin was really not on my list of worries. I sat on the steps of the gazebo and tucked one of my legs under me and I turned my translucent English forearms out the sun. I had a tattoo on my left forearm, that given its dark black outline and my alabaster skin, you could probably see from outer space. I had gone in to get it without an idea of what I wanted; just wanting to mark the occasion of being in Liverpool with a few extra quid to burn and a blank slate ahead of me. The book I found it in claimed it was a swan or something like that, but I didn't really see it. It was a beautiful art deco design, like a crazed winged something, with long, graceful flowing lines and intricately detailed wings. Something about the design, bird or not, just had clicked with me in a way that had been a little unexpected at the time. I loved it to this day, though I was unsure of what significance it should hold. Other than the whole few extra quid thing.

I looked up and that's when he caught my eye for the first time. Sitting across the square from me was a beautiful, gorgeous piece of man, with a notebook in his hands, staring directly at me. His eyes were just…not moving. But the weirdest thing was that he seemed so _familiar_. I looked away for a second, and did a double take. Sure enough, he was still there, still staring, and still the most familiar person to me. Had I met him before? I continued to look at him and frantically tried to recall who he was. This wasn't like me. Not at all. I didn't do much frantically in my life, and I was actually quite good with names.

But that wasn't the strangest part. That restless feeling from econ…was simply gone when I spotted him. Just like that. There was just something about those eyes, something I couldn't quite explain but understood on a level that I didn't quite know how to express adequately. I _knew_ him from somewhere. I _had_ to, because not only did he seem incredibly familiar, but my entire body was comforted beyond all belief by seeing him over there.

But then, it hit me. He was in Neoclassical with me! I thought I remembered noticing him there once or twice, sitting in the back, always alone. I _thought_. I would have only seen him if I had glanced back to look at the clock, so I couldn't be 100 sure, but…yeah, that had to be it, since I definitely couldn't place him anywhere else. And maybe I was simply comforted on a subconscious level that I wasn't the only one blatantly skipping class. This one had a very honest, true aura about him. If _he_ were ditching class, then it _must_ be ok.

He was still looking at me, but the weird thing was that he was looking at me and writing something. Or drawing something, it looked like, based on the long pencil strokes. I raised an eyebrow at him almost involuntarily. Inquisitively. I couldn't help my curiosity. I smiled a little in spite of myself and his expression changed somewhat. He was curious, too. He recognized me, too.

I stood up, almost without intending to. But, I simply had to know. I wasn't going to let this pass me be. I rarely did let things pass me by, and this would be no exception. Head held high, I strode across the square. He was looking down at his work now; he had clearly not noticed that I had gotten up. I was standing behind him now and I looked down at his sketchbook. What he had sketched was…_me_. I was sort of flattered by that. No one had ever sketched me before that I was aware of.

"Impressive," I offered playfully.

"Wha-? I… " I had clearly caught him off guard and felt a little bad for having interrupted his work.

"You're in my neoclassical class, aren't you?" I asked. Probably a more appropriate start to a conversation of this nature. Where were my manners, my father would have asked once upon a forever ago.

He turned and looked at me. I tried not to die as those eyes penetrated mine within this close range. I grounded myself and smirked at him.

"You mean the one neither of us is attending?" he asked smugly.

I flicked my hair back. It was a habit of mine when I had nothing to do with my hands, I guessed. I smiled. I had been right, after all, about the class. "That's the one."

"I don't know," he responded.

Right. He seemed to be an honest person, but I was absolutely sure that's where I knew him from. And I was sure he knew me, too. After all, he had just sketched me in intricate detail. At any rate, there was no time like the present in which to actually introduce myself. I extended my hand. "I'm Olivia."

He looked at my hand for a second before he moved, as though I had jut done something exceedingly odd. Finally, he extended his hand cautiously, gripping mine. I jumped. The handshake had been, quite literally, electric thanks to a little bit of static passed between us. If I was looking for a sign, anyway, there it was.

"I'm Will," he said quietly. No, I had definitely not known him name before. But even still, his soft, hollow voice seemed to bring me back somewhere. Where, I didn't know.

"Will," I repeated. It was my trick for being so good with names. Once I had said it out loud, I had instant recall. But something told me that there wasn't a chance that I would forget this man's name. I didn't want to. I studied him again; he was _fucking hot_ is what he was.

He looked as though he was about to go back to his work, back to being stoic and passive as he sketched random girls on the courtyard. It was an approach, I had to admit, I had never before witnessed. It fascinated me, so I wasn't about to let this conversation die just like that.

"Have we met?" I asked very suddenly. Well, that would get that question answered.

He inhaled sharply and held his breath for a moment, as though he were carefully considering what should be a one word answer. "No," he said softly.

Well, that didn't seem right. I continued to study his sketch. It was gorgeous. Perfect. "Are you an artist?" I asked, wanting nothing more than to start a conversation that went on for longer than four sentences.

"No," he answered very curtly, cutting me off. So, it would take a little effort. I smiled. I was not blind to the effect it could have on people.

"You should be," I offered. We were both silent for a moment, both of us unsure of how to continue the conversation. Well, I was unsure of how to continue the conversation. He, on the other hand, only gave off an air of solitude. One that I had blatantly interrupted. But I simply couldn't…he just felt so familiar to me. And if I didn't know him, if these feelings were just crazy, I wanted to know him. I shifted nervously as I formulated my plan. Was I bold enough to do it? You betcha, but that didn't…I was still nervous. "Hey, listen, a few of my mates and I are meeting at Mood tonight. You should come."

He smiled at that. A real smile. A real smile that suggested he thought I was some variety of crazy to be speaking to him at all, let alone asking him out. "Olivia, was it? We just met."

"Because you were staring at me, yes."

"You don't know anything about me," he said cautiously.

"And you don't know anything about me. What better way to learn?"

I shifted nervously as he seemed to consider my offer. He wanted to write me off. But he hadn't. "Come on, Will!"

"I don't really do the clubbing scene," he mumbled.

I smiled. He was sold, I could tell. I smiled at him, knowing that it had the potential to seal the deal. "Just come. You might find you like it more than you think."

And with that, I was off.


	3. Exhausted

DISCLAIMER: Neither lionessrampant84 nor oh-you-pretty-things owns any part of the Pirates of The Caribbean franchise. The aforementioned franchise and its characters belong to the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN:Sorry for the delay. shrugs It happens.  
_

_**Warning: Story contains disturbing content. It is rated M for a reason. Herein lies character death, suicide, and sexual content. Ye be warned, young 'uns. If you're easily offended by these topics, it's best you don't continue.**_

**Chapter 3 – Exhausted**

_I never sleep  
I been awake for what feels like a year  
cause when I dream  
My mind puts a face  
To each one of my fears  
I'm exhausted by my imagination  
I close my eyes  
But I could still see the pain on your face  
Its your disguise  
You put your heart and soul on a plate  
I'm exhausted by my imagination  
The walls are bleeding cause I'm hallucinating  
Beneath the wheel I cannot slow its rotation down_

_I got to get away from here  
But there's nowhere I can go  
Everyone I recognize looks at me like I am lost  
Walking down these dire streets  
I thought I heard you call my name  
But its only in my head  
Or maybe it was just your ghost_

___Up in the sky  
The clouds are dirty so soon it will rain  
I lost my mind  
After you told me that you went insane_

___I'm a victim of my imagination  
These walls are talking but I'm hallucinating  
Beneath the wheel that will not slow its rotation down  
Down  
Down in my head_

___I got to get away from here  
But there's nowhere I can go  
Everyone I recognize  
Looks at me like I'm a ghost  
Walking down these dying streets  
I thought I heard you call my name  
But it was only in my mind  
You were never there at all_

___ Joseph Arthur_

* * *

My day started out perfectly normally. I got out of bed, showered and crawled off to school, like any normal University student. Today was a busy day, six classes and minimal breaks, but it was also a beautiful day. In my new attempt at appreciating my unending life, I decided to skip my Neoclassical History class and enjoy the weather. After all, I was only taking it to entertain myself with the inaccuracy of historians. I lived it. It's simply amazing how many mistakes I can find.

I made my way to the Square and pulled out a sketchbook. All this Neoclassical jabber combined with the intensive study of building structure gave me a vision. It was a doorway, pillared and extravagantly outlined. I sketched it feverishly with the heat of the sun beating down upon my neck. There was nothing but my hand and the vision. I hadn't felt that free in ages. When I finished my sketch, I looked it over with a critical eye and decided that I might try to make it myself, or at least a prototype. I hadn't worked in the smithy in quite some time.

I finally looked up and glanced about. There were students everywhere enjoying the sun, laughing, playing, studying, all of them full of youthful exuberance. That's when I saw her. She had one leg tucked under her bottom and the other dangling over the step of the gazebo. She was wearing a pair of dark, skinny jeans that seem so tragically in style these days. If there's one thing I do agree with in this century, it's that the '80's should have stayed dead. On her feet were shiny, ugly faux ballet slippers. At this point, I really had no idea why I was even looking at her, except for her thin forearms bared to the sun. There was something familiar about them. There was something familiar about the way she chewed on her pen. There was something familiar about the line of her jaw, barely hidden beneath ends of her blunt cut, dark chestnut brown hair. She looked like...no, she was near identical to Elizabeth.

I couldn't help myself. I sat there staring at her in utter awe. I've met many, many women who looked similar to Elizabeth in my time, but generally it was one, maybe two, features that were similar. Never have I seen a girl who looked exactly like Elizabeth. Never until now. Wherever my heart was now, I could feel its pace quicken. A puzzling experience to feel your missing heart quicken. I didn't move, partly out of fear and partly out of not knowing what to say to Elizabeth's twin. Plus, it would ruin the lovely illusion should I speak to her and find her to be shallow and empty instead of being Elizabeth. With shoes like that, what else could she be?

She looked up from the paper she'd been studying so intently. Her pen hung precariously from her lips and she looked so bored. I watched her head turn in slow motion. I knew I should look away from her, that I should go back to my sketchbook and pretend I'd never even noticed her, but I didn't and she caught me. Despite the initial reaction to look away, I found that I couldn't tear my eyes from her face. For the first time in two hundred and four years, I was looking at Elizabeth's face. Elizabeth. The girl quirked an eyebrow at me, the corner's of her lips upturning. The look was so unnerving that I shook my head and finally broke contact.

I looked down at my sketchbook and was shocked by what I found there. I must have been doing it unconsciously. I found that I used to do that on the Dutchman – think of something else, and sketch whatever I was looking at. I had sketched her profile in the center of the doorway. Actually, I was quite impressed with that little feat. While I was admiring my handiwork, I failed to notice that Elizabeth v2.0 had made her way across the square and was currently looking over my shoulder at my sketch.

She raised her eyebrows when I looked up, sending shivers down my spine. "Impressive."

Bloody hell. She really was some sort of Elizabeth clone. Her voice was identical.

"Wha-? I...," I stuttered. I stopped and rolled my eyes at myself. Two hundred and sixty-six years old and I still couldn't talk to bloody Elizabeth Swann.

The girl was completely unruffled by the fact that I had just sketched her inside of a rather intricate doorway. "You're in my Neoclassical class, aren't you?" she asked.

I swallowed and looked up at her, slightly distracted by the hideous fuchsia shirt she was wearing. The 80's should have stayed dead. "You mean the one neither of us are attending?" I retorted. Smooth, Will, smooth.

The girl flicked her hair in the most irritating manner and smiled. "That's the one."

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. I never really noticed classmates. I avoided making friends. I had never really been one for companionship beyond that of Elizabeth; I saw no reason to start now.

She smirked at me as though she didn't believe me. I suppose I couldn't blame her, I did just sketch her in rather intricate detail. Then she did the most bizarre thing – she stuck her hand out to shake mine. I looked at it and then up at her face.

"I'm Olivia."

I swallowed. Olivia. Not Elizabeth. I hesitated before sticking my hand out to grasp hers. The hand shake, which is simply a commonplace greeting now, was originally designed to show that you had no concealed weapons in your hand. I'm still not used to it. Our hands touched and it was electric...literally. One of us sent a static shock to the other.

"I'm Will."

"Will," she repeated with a half-smile.

I watched her for a moment as she bit her lip and looked off to the side. She was so young; so full of life. It almost made me tired just looking at her standing there. She looked at me and for the first time appeared disconcerted by my attention.

"Have we met?" she asked, her voice raising several octaves.

I sucked in a breath loudly and felt my absent heart speed up. I wondered briefly where it was, beating so madly. Probably buried under some resort in the Caribbean.

"No," I forced out at length.

Olivia narrowed her eyes at me, again as though she didn't believe me. She glanced at my sketch again. "Are you an artist?"

"No," I answered quickly.

"You should be."

I looked down at my sketch. The only reason I drew her so well was because I'd seen her so many times before. Elizabeth. Olivia. Whatever. I shrugged.

"Hey, listen," she said, her voice high pitched again. Apparently she was nervous, but she did not do the things that Elizabeth used to do when nervous. Just her voice betrayed her. "A few of my mates and I are meeting at Mood tonight. You should come."

I felt a genuine smile stretch across my face for the first time in years. She was inviting me to a nightclub? Did I look like the type of man who went to nightclubs? And yet, there my heart went again.

"Olivia, was it? We just met."

"Because you were staring at me, yes," she confirmed.

"You don't know anything about me," I said. I could hear the caution in my voice and it irked me. She was not Elizabeth.

She shook her head. "And you don't know anything about me. What better way to learn?"

I must have looked sceptical because she shifted her weight noticeably from one foot to the other.

"Come on, Will!" she said with forced enthusiasm. She was nervously biting her lip.

"I don't really do the clubbing scene," I said lamely.

For some reason my ineptness to hold a normal conversation seemed to calm her nerves. She looked at me with newfound confidence, standing tall and smiling with a seductive edge. She had no idea how that smile on that face affected me in particular. Sure, any other man would find it appealing, but for me it was downright absurdly attractive.

"Just come. Who knows? You might find you like more than you see."

She said that last bit over her shoulder as she walked away, like a seasoned seductress. I shook my head slightly. Was I really going to some bloody nightclub? Yes, yes I was.

* * *

I stood outside of Mood, scowling at the heavy beat vibrating through the sidewalk. What the hell had driven me here? Curiosity? Need? My violent inability to do anything mentally healthy? I took out a cigarette and popped into my mouth. I needed the nicotine rush before going in there to find my Elizabeth clone. I sucked hard on the cigarette and realized that my fingers were trembling. My fingers. Were. Trembling. Ridiculous. What I really hoped to find is that I had been very wrong about Olivia. That perhaps the sun had played tricks with my eyes, that maybe I'd only seen Elizabeth in her because she happened to fit the bill. I dropped the cigarette onto the ground and stamped it out. With a deep breath, I went into the club.

The music was ludicrously, ear drum-splittingly loud. And terrible. Techno should have died alongside the 80s. I glanced around. The scent of fermenting vodka combined with sweat floated in the air and itched my nostrils. Disgusting, really, but with the advent of deodorant, certainly better than anything I've ever smelled on any pirate ship. Including Elizabeth. I skimmed the crowd, looking for Olivia. Maybe she wasn't here and I could just leave. Strangely, part of me wanted her to be here while another part still told me to run away. I kept looking. I was late, obviously. I know how these things work: people pre-drink, drink some more, and by the time I got there, would be in their worst form. I hoped Olivia's worst form would sicken me and make me never look at her again.

Unfortunately I suddenly realized that this was not the case. Olivia was standing with her back up against the bar, smiling up at some prat. I frowned. Why is he a bloody prat? I don't know him. Maybe he's her boyfriend. Honestly, what is it to me? Why am I even arguing with myself over that? I watched her face split into a wide smile and I was taken back Elizabeth's face on the Pearl when I resurfaced. This was really not healthy. My hand slid into the pocket of my jacket where it nervously fingered a loose cigarette. God, what was she wearing? Practically nothing. They make skirts that small...and that tight? I snapped the cigarette in half and promptly pulled my hand out of my pocket to rub my eye. Mm, nicotine in the eye burns. Good reason to leave. I turned to go.

"Will!" I closed my eyes, unable to ignore her voice over the mad beat of the synthetic drums.

I turned slowly on my heel, eyes still closed. When I opened them, there she was in all her short skirt, tiny shirt, Elizabethan glory. The nicotine in my eyes couldn't even dull her brightness. Or the angry glare from the bloke who'd been talking to her. She slithered across the dance floor to me. She stood in front of me, quite clearly drunk, her eyes sparkling and a silly smile on her lips.

"You came," she said as though she was certain that I wouldn't.

I scratched my head. "Yeah."

She bit her lip which was alarmingly attractive given that she had Elizabeth's face. She shook her head slowly at me. "You don't want to be here."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. I opened my mouth to negate it, but closed it again and smiled slightly. She reached out and took my hand. It was a little disconcerting. God, I was like a twelve year old boy lying on a ship deck. Relax, Will. Relax. She's not Elizabeth.

"Let's go," she said. Again, not a question, but neither was it a demand as I'd expect from Elizabeth.

I nodded absently. She turned to someone who I could only presume was her friend to presumably let her know. Where the hell were we going? She still had my hand in hers as she pulled me out the door of bloody Mood. She marched us onward and I stared at the way her hair danced across the nape of her neck. It was entrancing. Finally, shaking my head from the enchantment, I put the brakes on by planting my feet. She gave a final tug and then turned around to give me a questioning look.

"Look, Olivia," I started. Her eyes were glazed over a bit and she smiled sleepily. I sighed. "Where do you live?"

She looked around, a sad expression coming over her face. "I don't feel so well, Will."

"What?"

"I think I'm going to be sick."

And she was not two seconds later...on my shoes. I winced as she clutched my sleeves and vomited all over the ground before me. My heart soared a bit because I thought this was my chance to be disgusted, but then she looked up at me with tears streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Will."

Aw, shit. I guess she got me. I felt my entire being melt. "Why did you drink so much?" I asked softly, pulling out a handkerchief from my pocket. Old habits die very hard.

She seemed to shrug. "You were late," she replied quietly.

"You don't even know me," I replied at length, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face and lending her some support while shaking vomit off my shoes.

"But I feel like I do. Is that crazy?"

My heart was beating madly again. "Yes. Absolutely."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Olivia, where do you live?"

She just looked at me.

I frowned. "You can't come home with me."

"Why? The 'rents don't like you bringing home birds?"

I laughed a little. "My parents are dead." Everyone is dead. C'est la vie.

Her face fell suddenly. "Oh, Will, I'm sorry."

I shook my head and released her arm. I started walking again. "Don't be. I've had a long time to get over it."

But, does anyone ever really get over any death? This was precisely why I lived alone. Olivia was getting too much information out of me. It was time to go home. I turned to ask her if she wanted me to call her cab, but she was right behind me. I just looked at her with her huge doe eyes and sighed.

"Please take me home with you. I don't want to go back to my empty flat."

I don't know what came over me, but I couldn't stop the words before they flew out of my mouth. "Well judging by the way that bloke was looking at you, it didn't have to be an empty flat."

My eyes widened. Had I really just said that? I winced, expecting a slap. It's what Elizabeth would have done. Instead, Olivia's shocked face broke into a sly grin.

"You were jealous!"

I rolled my eyes and started walking again. Not possible. She ran up to my side.

"You were!"

"I just met you, Olivia," I said in an annoyed tone. Why was she always right?

She started laughing at me. Standing in the street, laughing at me. I turned around and grabbed her wrist. "Alright, alright. Come on."

Why was I taking her home? I have no idea. I told myself it was because she refused to tell me her address. It was a good reason. Honestly, it was because I wanted to bring her home. I wanted to have her under my watchful eye. I didn't want anyone looking at her like that predatory creep had been. Jesus. Not. Good. It was a short walk to my building, but it wasn't really a safe one for a girl in Olivia's state and dress. I took off my jacket and told her to put it on.

"Why? I'm hot."

Both literally and colloquially. "It's safer that way. I don't live in the suburbs."

Suburbs were strange. Just clumps of houses there for no real reason except that there's no room in the city. It wasn't for me. Once she was safely ensconced in my jacket, I wrapped an arm around her. She looked up and smiled. Bullocks. She was getting the wrong idea. I just wanted her to be safe. But then what Will? You wanted her to be safe because you know what they're thinking? Because you're thinking it yourself? I really wish my hormones would have kept up with my lifespan. I'd be more than happy to curl up in a chair and be sexless. I glanced down at Olivia. Alright, that was a lie.

After suffering some catcalls and lewd comments, which Olivia was barely aware of, we arrived at my seaside building. Olivia looked at the building.

"You live here? What, are you a squatter or something?"

"A what?"

She glared at me. "A bum."

I laughed. "No."

I opened the door and ushered her inside, glancing around for any unsavoury business going on nearby. Nothing. The street was quiet tonight. I used all the locks this time. Usually I only used one, sometimes none. I had always hoped that if someone else did it, I would actually die. No such luck. Surprisingly no one had broken in as of yet. But there was a precious treasure with me tonight and I felt the need to protect her.

I turned around to find Olivia already poking around at the elevator. I hurried to her side and pulled the lever.

"What's up there?" she asked, looking up the elevator shaft as the car came down.

"My...home," I replied.

"Oh."

I opened the gate for her and ushered her in, closing the gate behind me. The elevator was old and manually operated. I liked it because no one in this over-teched world could operate it. No one would be able to get to my treasure trove. When we arrived at the second floor, Olivia's eyes lit up. I smiled to myself. I had all the walls lined with book shelves to accommodate my rather mammoth book collection. I'd collected them from around the world and many were first editions. Of course, this was not because I was a collector, but because I bought them when they were published.

"Wow Will. This is all yours?" she asked as I was busy closing up the elevator.

I turned around to find her with an Irish fertility goddess statue in her hands. I ran over and took it from her.

"Yes. And it's...," she was now holding a compass I'd been given in Germany in 1903, "Priceless."

I took the compass from her. "Olivia. Maybe you should wash up and brush your teeth."

Her hand went up to her mouth self-consciously as though she'd forgotten that she'd vomited all over my shoes.

"Come on," I said, leading her to the washroom. She stood behind me numbly as I searched through drawers for a toothbrush. I know I have a few to keep up appearances, just in case. I don't have to brush my teeth, which is a fabulous perk. No bad breath. No rotting teeth. Nothing. Aha! Success. I turned around and handed it to her. She smiled weakly.

"Thanks, Will. Look I'm sorry...," she started. I pressed my fingers to her lips.

"Don't." If anyone should be apologizing...well, you know.

She smiled again as though I were a good person. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. I left her to the bathroom, pausing only on my way out to pass her a towel. Showering was another unnecessary matter. Dirt didn't stick for long. If I just went about my business, it would fall away eventually. Convenient for those fifty years at sea. I still showered though. It just felt...nice.

I took off my vomit-covered shoes and tossed them into the garbage. What was a pair of shoes, really? The loft was entirely open concept. Olivia was the first person to step into my loft since the decorator and moving men. I felt a little self-conscious, but I was glad to be home. I was glad I wouldn't have to escape in the dead of the night. Well, I suppose it already was the dead of the night and I was feeling it. I flung myself on my bed, figuring I could have a bit of a rest while Olivia showered.


	4. Your Honor, Part I

Disclaimer: Don't own the PoTC-related items, this might be inappropriate for young readers, etc, etc

**Disclaimer: Don't own the PoTC-related items, this might be inappropriate for young readers, etc, etc.**

**Chapter 4 – Your Honor (part I)**

_I kissed your lips and I tasted blood_

_I asked you what happened_

_And you said there'd been a fight_

_You said, 'I've been fighting for your honor,_

_But you wouldn't understand'_

_I say hold on, Your Honor, I'll get ice for your hand_

_You've been fighting for my honor_

_And I don't understand_

_Well, hold on, Your Honor, I'll get ice for your hand_

_-Regina Spektor_

As I walked away, I tried very hard not to explode. My whole body was just buzzing. What had it been about my new friend Will that had prompted this sort of a reaction? Other than, of course, the fact that he was the sexiest man I had ever met in my life. Because there was something else about him. Something that was making everything fuzzy as I walked directly past the bike I meant to get on and ride home. It felt very weird, indeed. Almost like falling in love for the first time, but different somehow.

The fact that I was about to walk into traffic was what jerked me back into the realm of the living. Oh, right. Bike. It just bothered me so much. To not be able to figure a person out was simply maddening for me. To not be able to pass an econ test was somewhat expected, but not be able to figure out what made someone tick was totally _un_expected. But, I had invited him out tonight, hadn't I? Maybe he would show.

I walked back to my bike, unlocked it and began to ride unsteadily. _Maybe_ he would show? My heart sped up. All I wanted in the world was for him to show. Suddenly, the stakes were much, much higher. I was very slow and as careful as I could be getting home. Suddenly, the glorious weather meant very little to me. Suddenly, dancing was a little less important. What had he _done _to me?!

I arrived at my building in one piece, courtesy of some small miracle. When I opened the door, it was immediately clear to me that roommate was not here. Oh, good. I'd have a quiet minute to figure things out, clear my head. I quickly made myself some tea and sat down at the kitchen table to stare at the wall while it steeped. Had it ever been that…_sudden_ before? I had been in love before, more than once, actually, and it had gotten to the point I was now at, or at least something like it. But had it ever just _been _there? That feeling where it just made perfect sense to be near someone? Huh.

That was absurd, my more logical half decided. I was confused. I _did_ had a tendency to love my little heart away, so it was likely that I was just being incredibly efficient in my overzealous efforts. He was attractive beyond all belief. He was dark and brooding. He wan an artist whether he liked it or not. He had that soft, smooth voice. I mean, what wasn't to like? People 'just clicked' all the time, and I should have been the first to know that. One thing at a time, Liv. I took a deep breath. No harm to watch and see where it went, right?

I really hoped that he would show.

The afternoon passed quickly and relatively normally. To be honest, I was actually very cool with my decision to wait and see; excited about the possibilities. It had been a long time since I'd been in a relationship. All the excitement likely meant that it was just time for me to be in one again. I had showered again and selected a tight, black cotton mini dress, from my prized collection of cotton mini dresses. Then, Gwen had picked me up in her ancient Honda, my new mat Jen and Katie in the back. The hip-hop was already coming. I only really liked it when I was on the dance floor after a couple drinks, but it was the first nice Friday night of the year. The windows were down, we were yelling madly and laughing like loons. I caught myself wishing that Will were there.

We got to the club and, sure enough, there was a huge group of people there. The music was loud, literally shaking the walls of the club, everyone shouting over each other and the music.

"What are you having?" someone yelled in my direction. I spun around and found myself standing face to face with Rob from the courtyard. My heart sank a little in my chest.

"What?!" I yelled.

"Let me get this one for you!" he yelled back. "What are you having?"

I smiled. I rarely paid for drinks and was no stranger to this sort of attention. "Bacardi and diet coke!" I yelled back.

Not two minutes had passed and Rob returned and pressed the drink into my hand. "So how was class today?" he asked.

I took a sip. "Barely tolerable," I responded.

"I waited around for you afterwards, but you didn't show." He paused and did some weird thing that made his eyes sparkle in an almost intimidating way. "I missed you," he said, just a touch possessively.

I smiled at him seductively. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You look hot tonight, Olivia."

And, that's when it started. The weird pang in which I very suddenly felt hugely anxious. I downed the rest of my drink, and quickly, looking away from Rob.

"Someone was thirsty," he said, in that same creepy voice. "Let me get you another one."

And he disappeared. Normally, I had a system for dealing with male attention, designed to avoid going home with random sleezeballs, while still not having to pay for a single drink. It also allowed me to pace myself and leave without being sloppy. I was no stranger to being hit on, but, and call it a product of my upbringing, was a relationship girl. The men who hit on women in bars were generally not my type.

But, that system went out the window that night. He returned, pressed another drink into my hand, and started right on in.

"Really, you look fantastic."

I took another long swig of rum and coke. I smiled as bet I could. That was the trick, the smile. "Thanks," I said weakly. I could already feel the liquor.

"So, econ, eh?" he started. "What are you studying again?"

Every time he opened his mouth, I felt the need to drink. I looked around anxiously. What time had I given Will? "Social policy," I responded. Another smile. Another long sip.

"So, what are you going to do with that? Join the UN and rescue a bunch of babies like Angelina Jolie?"

Babies? What? I laughed weakly and sipped my drink nervously and looked around the club. Maybe I just hadn't noticed Will come in.

"Um…" I started, straw still in my mouth, peering behind him. "I want to travel."

"Traveling is cool! We should go somewhere together someday." He smiled again. I threw back the rest of my drink. Go somewhere with him? The edges of my consciousness were blurring and my movements were all a little jerky. Yep, I was drunk. I was drunk and I had been here for less than an hour. Stellar.

I couldn't see Gwen or the girls, and my back was up against the bar. Rob was getting closer, probably under the guise of whispering something in my ear, when he noticed my drink and hastily replaced it with another. I normally let myself drink three or four drinks a night, not three or four drink an hour. But, he kept talking, and I kept smiling and drinking and looking around, the anxiety worse with every passing moment. Anxiety? Maybe it was just the Bacardi talking. I couldn't tell any more.

The room was spinning by the time I had plowed through my third drink. My head was woozy. Rob said something and I just grinned stupidly at the comment, apparently too inebriated for my coy little smirk. I tried to ground myself and looked for the door so that I could get some fresh air.

That's when I saw him.

He was standing just inside the door, rubbing his eyes and looking terribly uncomfortable. He clearly didn't want to be here, nor did he know exactly why he came. Normally, I would have felt a little bad, or a little awkward, and taken it upon myself to make sure he had a good time or felt comfortable. And, being well-learned in the art of modern society (i.e. clubbing), I would also have had him buying me drinks by the end of the night.

However, that was not how I felt. I was getting used to the idea that Will made my entire emotional being go haywire at this point. I had almost expected some kind of bizarre reaction from myself. And, I was not let down. Because when I saw him, I was flooded with this incredibly familiar sensation of _relief_. But, it wasn't even just relief. It was like this…complete and utter _glee_ at just…not having to wait around for him any more. He was at the club, looking as though he would bolt at any second, and I felt _overjoyed_. As though I had been consciously waiting for his entrance for _years_.

"Will!" I exclaimed. I sort of walked away from Rob without saying anything; swaggering across the dance floor towards Will without a second thought. I passed Jen on the way, and spotted Gwen and Katie near where Will stood. That's where they had been!

"You came!" I said, the drunken relief obviously present in my voice. The fact that I had really hoped he would come, too.

"Yeah," he said quietly, scratching his head absently.

My heart sank down to my shoes. _But why?_ I wanted to ask. "You don't want to be here."

He almost spoke then, but smiled instead. A dead giveaway that I was right. It really only took a split second to make up my mind (and it rarely took longer, to be honest). I wanted to know him. I mean, I felt like I _did_ somehow. In my drunken stupor, I decided that I would take him somewhere more quiet, more to his liking. God, anywhere, as long as I wasn't apart from him. I grabbed his hand, which was soft and alarmingly cool compared to my sticky, sweaty palm. "Let's go," I demanded.

I marched him out of the door, quickly mentioning to Gwen not to worry about me. She looked at Will, then looked back at me, and raised her eyebrows. No, it wasn't like that! I just didn't want to…I wasn't going to…but my feet had already propelled me out onto the street.

I was more dizzy than originally suspected, and the anxiety I had been feeling was quickly replaced with this very excited, frenetic happiness. I wanted to sit down, but in my muddled brain, stopping equated with Will leaving. So, I soldiered on. The world was getting more and more blurry by the second. I would _need_ to sit down, and soon.

Maybe he sensed this. Because not ten seconds after my stomach began to lurch uncontrollably, he stopped. Planted his feet and stopped there. I didn't want him to go! So, I did what any hideously drunk and determined person would do. I tugged on his arm.

"Look, Olivia, where do you live?"

I looked up at him with big eyes. My stomach was tying itself in these horrible, nervous, excited, drunken knots. "I don't feel so well, Will."

"What?"

"I think I'm going to be sick." And no sooner had I had finished the sentence, I was. Oh, it was awful. I doubled over before I could turn around and find the curb, falling into Will. I grabbed his sleeves for support as I promptly vomited all over his shoes. I was sure then that he would be completely disgusted with me; my wait-and-see-where-it-goes plan would be over then and there. I didn't want to lose him. It was crazy, _absolutely insane_, that need (and it felt like a _need_ out there on the street, rather than some giddy, girlish desire) to be near him. Suddenly, I was also crying.

"I'm so sorry, Will." And I was.

Much to my absolute surprise, his face softened. "Why did you drink so much?" he asked, his voice soft and laced with this very gentle concern. He pulled out a handkerchief from his coat. A handkerchief? Who carries handkerchiefs? Regardless, he wiped gently at the corners of my mouth.

"You were late," I responded simply.

He was silent for a second, and grabbed my arm as though I would topple over at any second. I supposed I would have. He looked at me with those eyes- those _eyes_! – and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. "You don't even know me," he said; same soft, hollow voice.

"But," I began, my heart banging against my rib cage, "I feel like I do." His expression changed immediately. I couldn't read it through the din in my mind. "Is that crazy?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

But he seemed removed from that. Vacant. Like he was caught in his own battle. But, it was crazy, wasn't it? And, being as blasted as I presently was, I had probably betrayed my zen-like state of cool. He had made it abundantly clear at this point that he had never met me before and had no idea who I was. "Okay," I agreed.

We walked slowly another few feet before he spoke again. "Olivia, where do you live?"

So, he was going to be chivalrous and take me home, and then, probably never speak to me again. I couldn't bear that possibility, not like this. I had barely had a chance to talk to him! My heart started to bang even harder. I simply stared at him, not able to voice eloquently how opposed I was to that idea. At least this time, I had the presence of mind not to demand that he to take me home to his home.

"You can't come home with me," he said with meaning, apparently reading my mind.

"Why?" I blurted, my tone of voice haughty and sarcastic. "The 'rents don't like you bringing home birds?"

Mercifully, he laughed. At least he was amused by my un-witty, drunken banter. "My parents are dead," he added evenly.

I was incredibly embarrassed suddenly. He didn't look offended or hurt by the comment, but then, he also struck me as someone that did a fairly good job of not expressing intense emotions. "Oh, Will, I'm so sorry," I gushed. I certainly apologized to him a lot, which said something.

"Don't be," he shrugged. "I've had a long time to get over it."

He began walking again, clearly not over it. I followed him, intrigued in this hazy, childlike way. After a time, he turned back to and opened his mouth to say something, and, eyes wide, I simply stared at him. Maybe he hadn't expected me to follow him. Maybe he had just been searching for the right words to tell me to lave him alone. Still, I wanted none of that.

He sighed heavily instead, saying nothing.

"Please take me home with you," I pleaded suddenly, almost in spite of myself. Normally, I was a little more smooth and flirtatious than this. I was losing my edge, apparently. Or, perhaps, I was just sloshed. Or, it was that strange intense desire for him that I'd been harboring since I saw him on the courtyard earlier. "I don't want to go home to an empty flat." Perhaps that little sob story would ply him. But, my face still wore this frantic, shocked expression at the idea that he might leave me or send me home.

"Well," he spat, "judging by the way that bloke was looking at you, it didn't have to be an empty flat."

He was _jealous_! That said something! My hope hadn't completely run out! Suddenly, I regained control of myself, or at least enough control to offer a coy half-smile. He winced, as though he were expecting me to hit him and storm off in a huff. "You were jealous!" I exclaimed, on the verge of laughter.

He just rolled his eyes and turned around to walk away. I was totally right. I ran up behind him, at least as well as my wobbly legs could carry me.

"You were!"

"I just met you, Olivia," he said, that same quiet, irritated desperation in his voice.

All I could do, however, was stand there and laugh. Big, belly laughter, right there, in the middle of the street. I was right about him, anyway. And I certainly had not blown my chances, even in my condition.

"All right, all right," he said, grabbing my wrist roughly. "Come on."

--

As it turned out, this mysterious stranger that I was positive I knew from somewhere, was not out of surprises for me. We walked for a long time, through a seemingly deserted part of town and had arrived, of all places, at a warehouse. I looked at Will, who was dressed sharply in stone-washed designer jeans, a tight black t-shirt and a fabulous leather jacket, and then back to the warehouse. He didn't _look_ like he should live in a warehouse, but then, he seemingly defied explanation.

At any rate, I felt exhilarated and my inhibition had been completely lost, so I followed him. I followed right him up this crazy old manual elevator, right into the most posh loft I have ever set foot in. Again, totally unexpected. Actually, it was getting to the point where if he did something halfway normal, like played video games in his underwear or procrastinated on his reading, I would have felt highly disappointed.

The loft was completely open, other than a couple doors that I assumed were closets or bathrooms. He had books and fascinating treasures piled on shelves that stretched all the way to the ceiling. This one was not only a dark, brooding artist, but he was clearly well-traveled and well-read as well. My dream man, as it were. I was drawn to the shelves, again, completely forgetting my manners. First a figurine, then a compass, both incredibly old and beautiful. I wondered where he had accumulated all of this, and how. Suddenly, it was even more urgent that I know this person, this gorgeous, strange, fascinating man.

He spoke; I don't know what he said, but his tone was nervous and overwhelmed. The loft was absolutely pristine and it was clear that not many people were allowed here. Maybe not anyone. His bed was a low platform bed, piled high with pillows and a fluffy looking duvet, perfectly smoothed. Everything, the bed and the accompanying side table, was dark wood, stained to perfection. The kitchen was well equipped with stainless steel everything and black granite everything else. The whole look was finished off with a black leather sectional sofa. Suddenly, about a million questions that I would not be able to adequately express while drunk welled up in my mind. I also became aware that I was staring.

He spoke again as he took the compass from me. "Olivia. Maybe you should wash up and brush your teeth."

I was very self-conscious then and without thinking about it, covered my mouth. I had vomited on him, hadn't I? Fantastic.

"Come on."

He turned and walked through one of the couple doors and into a bathroom that was as spectacular as the rest of the loft. Honestly, was he involved in some sort of money laundering operation? Organized crime? Perhaps a more likely conclusion would be a large inheritance from the parents he didn't miss.

The entire operation was tiled in shining silver travertine. The counter was some sort of heavy black stone with the same fabulously stained black wood for the drawers below. He even had it outfitted with those hopelessly trendy above counter sinks. And the _shower_. It was so large, actually, that it did not require a curtain or door and had one of those enormous square showerheads. It was gorgeous, though, I was fairly certain of my inability operate it. He rifled around in one of the drawers and handed me a brand new toothbrush. Curious, but I didn't feel it was because he was brining a lot of people home. There was _something_ about him, though.

I smiled as he stood up. "Thanks, Will." And again, I felt the need to apologize. "Look, Will, I'm sorry…"

But then he pressed those soft fingers to my lips. "Don't," he said softly.

I smiled genuinely at this. It just felt so _right_, the feel of his skin on mine, and his gentle voice. There, somewhere, was a quite amazing person trapped inside of this scattered and confusing shell. I just couldn't put my finger on _what_ it was exactly.

Thankfully, the shower worked relatively like a normal-person shower would. It was just a little extra button pressing and knob twisting, thankfully. The hot water felt fantastic. Cathartic, even, given my night. I just stood there for a while, feeling completely satisfied. Less wasted, too. Now, I was mostly just drowsy.

I still couldn't place the source of my comfort, but it was certainly there. Perhaps it had been that I had talked this amazingly attractive mystery man into taking me home. I didn't think that was it. Actually, I knew that wasn't it, but I was pleased with my efforts. Impressed that I still managed to play my cards right. I mean, what girl doesn't want to end the night in an enormous shower that was pulled from the pages of a fancy home design catalog and belonged to someone like Will?

I started opening the bottles that were meticulously lined up on the long shower-bench-thing that ran along the entire width of the shower. Kiehl's. Lush. Origins. Products just as fancy as the shower. All of them smelled earthy and organic. Did I know what Will smelled like? I supposed not. But, again, as I raised a bottle to my nose, there was that automatic wave of comfort. As though the damn shower gel was reassuring and would hold me in its arms and keep me safe. But, it smelled exactly as I imagined Will would smell. I lathered some in my hands.

Finally, I decided that it was time to get out of the shower. I had been keeping Will waiting, after all. I dried myself quickly, my hair dripping all over the shiny travertine. I fumbled around, brushing my teeth, trying to wring out my hair, wiping up the travertine lest I unintentionally set off some sort of homicidal rampage by my new anal-retentive friend, and trying to find my dress. There it was, in a rumpled, smelly heap near the sink. I picked it up and was a little disgusted. I didn't want to sleep in my smelly dress anyway.

A translucent sliding door right outside of the bathroom door caught my eye. I could only see the kitchen from where I was, and it was completely quiet. I supposed I hadn't noticed a TV or anything like that anyway. Very quietly, I slid the door open. Sure enough, it was his closet.

Everything was neatly arranged in a couple closet organizers, the ones with the drawers and space to hang shirts and shelves for shoes. He didn't seem to have very much, but what he did have amazed me. I fingered carefully through the dress shirts that were hanging, studying the labels. And his jeans, too. Even his t-shirts were designer! I continued to open drawers. I'm not sure what I had been expecting to find, but it turned out to be what I _didn't_ find that that intrigued me. He had clothes and shoes, sure, but there was not a single piece of identifying anything in the entire closet. Not a single picture, or memento, nothing. No old jerseys or ratty t-shirts from events. No torn up old trainers with character. Nothing from days gone by shoved forgotten into a corner. Nothing.

Perhaps, I thought to myself, he had another closet. Or having an absurdly clean closet was just very important to him and so he kept his personal items elsewhere. Had he been in the military? There were a number of possibilities, anyway. I almost left the closet forgetting what I had come for. I ended up settling on a linen button down that was from Banana Republic. It seemed like the cheapest shirt he had, anyway.

I crept out of the closet and into the loft. All of the lights were still on, but Will seemed to be curled up on his bed, asleep. Fully clothed and on top of the covers, too. I sighed. So much for getting to know him. And his loft was proving to be no real help either. I scanned the bookshelves again. The books seemed to be all ancient leatherbound editions of classics or volumes upon volumes of dry nonfiction on every subject under the sun, so it certainly didn't narrow anything down. I studied all of the objects on the shelves as well. Their one unifying characteristic seemed to be that they were old. Well, old and beautiful, anyway. Nothing jumped out as being unique. No patterns emerged.

Still curious, still needing to make a connection and just _know_, I walked into the kitchen. What was I going to find in a kitchen? Of course he had a set of fucking All-Clad and some dishes, but would it have killed him to leave out just _one_ take-out menu? Even his fridge was maddeningly pristine. Apples. Various condiments. Some orange juice. Fucking hell.

I was getting deliriously tired at this point. Finally resolved to just give up and assume that Will was just a happy little figment of my imagination, I walked over to the bed. Fate tempted me in the form of Will's wallet, dangling precariously from his back pocket.

Oh, come on. I wasn't that desperate.

…Was I?

No, I wouldn't dare.

But what if…

Very gently, I extended my hand out in front of me. I wouldn't be doing this were I sober and fully conscious, I reasoned with myself. I grasped the wallet in my thumb and forefinger and slowly, deftly pulled it from his pocket. If there were any place I could find something to identify him, his wallet would be that place.

And, I was not disappointed. There was, in fact, an ID card in there. He was actually William Turner. He actually lived at this address. He was born in 1985. Oh, and there was 20 quid. And a subway pass and a school ID. And absolutely nothing else. No credit cards, no video rental cards, no receipts, no library card, no pictures, no nothing. It was…maddening.

Suddenly, I felt horrible for having looked. Like I had violated him in some way. I threw the wallet down on the bed; he'd just think it fell out while he slept. God, I was tired. I looked from the couch to the bed. Then, back to the couch. Then, back at the bed. The polite thing to do would be to sleep on the couch. But…it looked so fancy and perfect. And the bed…well, the bed had Will in it. He didn't know me. The choice should have been obvious. And I suppose it was, in a way. I didn't want to disturb him, but the loft was drafty, so I pulled a fancy looking decorative blanket off of the sofa and draped it over both of us as I settled into bed. As soon as I lay down, he relaxed, as though he had been expecting me. As he moved into my side, he mumbled something that sounded like "Oh-Liv-something-something" happily under his breath. Well, at least he had remembered my name.


	5. Gimme Danger

DISCLAIMER: Neither lionessrampant84 nor oh-you-pretty-things owns any part of the Pirates of The Caribbean franchise. The aforementioned franchise and its characters belong to the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: We sort of killed this story a while back...but there's still a few chapters to post. I'm going to check with lioness and see if it's alright for me to usurp Olivia, since she's been abandoned.  
_

_**Warning: Story contains disturbing content. It is rated M for a reason. Herein lies character death, suicide, and sexual content. Ye be warned, young 'uns. If you're easily offended by these topics, it's best you don't continue.**_

**Chapter 5 – Gimme Danger**

_Gimme danger, little stranger  
And I'll feel you bleed  
Gimme danger, little stranger  
And I'll heal your disease_

_There's nothing in my dreams  
Just some ugly memories  
Kiss me like the ocean breeze_

_Now if you will be my lover  
I will shiver and sing  
But if you can be my master  
I will do anything_

_There's nothing left alive  
But a pair of glassy eyes  
Raise my feelings one more time_

_Come on little danger, die a little stranger  
Swear you're gonna feel my hell  
_

_Gimme danger  
Little stranger  
Gimme danger  
Every day  
Can you feel it?  
I gotta feel it_

_You gotta feel it, I gotta feel it  
I wanna feel it..._

_~ Iggy Pop_

_

* * *

  
_

It was the sun streaming through the window, spreading warmth across my body that woke me in the morning. I could feel her soft hair tickling my skin, the heat from the sun wafting the sweet scent of it into my nose. Her body, long, lithe and warm, was pressed against my side, one leg entwined with mine. I opened my eyes slowly, drowsiness clouding my vision. Elizabeth. Sweet, sweet Elizabeth. I closed my eyes and smiled. It had all been a bad dream. The ten year separations, the horrors of war, the cruelty of mankind. None of it was real. It was all just a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. My smile deepened. Yes. Peace and happiness at long last. Finally, a time where I can just rest and lay beside Elizabeth. She shifted in bed and my eyes shot open from surprise. That's when the dream died. Suddenly the jarring noises from the street seemed to fill my ears, the dull light of the polluted air glared through the window. I glanced at the sleeping figure beside me. Short, dark hair mussed about, mascara smudged, face squished into the pillow. Olivia. Decidedly not Elizabeth.

I disentangled myself but stayed next to her for awhile. After all, she had given me Elizabeth for just a few mere moments. She was beautiful. The spitting image of Elizabeth. There was something about her, though, that made me feel she was just a little too close to Elizabeth for comfort. It wasn't just her looks. It wasn't even her mannerisms. It certainly wasn't her dress, which she had abandoned for a buttoned down shirt of mine. But, there was some_thing_ about her. It wouldn't be fair for me to let this go any further than it already had. I'd ruined Elizabeth's life simply by existing. How could I do the same to Olivia? Besides, would it even be fair? Would I be able to draw the line between Olivia and Elizabeth? Is there a line? Aha, stop that right now. I don't believe in reincarnation. I have seen many things in my long life and evidence of reincarnation was not among them. Besides, I'd ferried souls to the land of the dead. There they go and there they stay. That's that.

I crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Olivia. How could I end this? I couldn't walk away as I usually did, she was in my bed. No one was ever in _my_ bed. I was a little fond of University and I really didn't want to leave Liverpool. I could drop Neoclassical, but then what would I do with my time? Hm. Sticky situation. Besides, it wasn't as though Olivia would just let me go, either. I knew that. She was like Elizabeth in that respect. She wouldn't just walk away and do what's right for herself, she'd follow me around until I destroyed her. And destroy her I would. There was nothing else that I was capable of doing now. Maybe ever. There was, of course, one way to take care of this little mess.

I had said that the loft was entirely open concept. It was, except for one room. It was a room I had created with the addition of a sliding wall-door. I kept a number of precious items in this room however it was mostly empty except for a couple of large wardrobes. I kept these items inside the wardrobes – out of sight, out of mind. On the far wall, there was a large, circular window which leant the only light into the room.

I hadn't been in here since I'd put away all my little baubles. I went to the larger of the two wardrobes and pulled it open. I opened the third drawer and just stared at it for awhile. Jack's pistol. I swallowed and picked it up. I'd been shot before, sure, but I'd never shot myself. As I picked it up I heard something clatter beneath it. It was a miniature of Elizabeth, painted for her engagement to Norrington. A maid had stolen it and given it to me. No matter what else I'd sold from my collection, I would never part from the miniature. It reminded me of a time when things were brighter. Before Cutler Beckett, before Davy Jones, before bloody Calypso. Even before she kissed Jack and broke my heart.

It was a lovely piece. Her long, blonde hair had been gathered over her shoulder in a cascade of ringlets and she wore a demure smile. This was the Elizabeth I had put on the pedestal. I should have taken her down. I should have released the little bird from the cage I built for her. I should have... I closed my eyes and clutched the miniature in my hand. I was fighting back tears. I didn't know I could still cry. I looked at the pistol before raising it to my temple, cocking it as I went. I glanced at the miniature again. Elizabeth. Maybe this time it would work. Maybe this time it'd all be over. Maybe that's why I'd never tried it before. Maybe I could release Olivia from me before it was too late. Maybe I could finally make it right for Elizabeth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"No!" I heard in a distinctively female voice. I must have forgotten to close the door. Or she was just _that_ good.

I didn't move. I wasn't sure what to do, actually. Should I pull the trigger and be done with it? And if I do, will that just mean that I'll have to bloody well move again? And with her witnessing it, there would be police everywhere. Not to mention, she'd be scarred by it for life. I was too lost in my own silent reverie to notice that she had approached me. She's obviously not dealt with many suicidal people before. Regardless, she reached up and took the gun from my hand carefully, all the while watching me with wide, terrified eyes. I let it go, of course. I'd been caught. I should have known I wouldn't have been able to get away with it with her here.

Olivia set the gun down on the floor and reached for my hand. "Will, whatever it is, it's not worth dying for," she said in Elizabeth's voice.

I stared at her earnest face and started to laugh. A girl with Elizabeth Swann's face and voice was telling me that it wasn't worth dying for. It was too funny. When I realized that I was scaring her, I stopped laughing. She reached out again, gripping my arm firmly.

"Why don't we just go out there," she said, nodding towards the main body of the loft, "and sit?"

"No," I said shaking my head. I didn't want to go anywhere. I wanted to be amongst my lost treasures. I wanted to be here. I wanted to be here with her.

"Okay," she replied cautiously, "Let's just...sit here."

She pulled my arms down as she moved to sit cross-legged on the floor. Obediently, I followed her. We sat for a few silent moments, Olivia refusing to release my arms. She watched me as though she'd be able to see the problem just by looking at me. I closed my eyes and chuckled again.

"Will," she said carefully.

I laughed harder. What the hell was I supposed to do? Why did this girl even exist if not to torment me? Why couldn't I just _die_? And why was she making me not want to? That was the clincher. To not want to die meant that I wanted to live. To want to live meant that I felt something. To feel is dangerous. Olivia is the root. I needed to either remove her from my life or fully embrace her into it. I opened my eyes, still feeling slightly maniacal. Olivia was watching me with wide eyes, her lips were parted ever so slightly. I wanted her. Even with the miniature of Elizabeth pricking my palm, I wanted Olivia.

I leant in and she backed up a bit. I couldn't blame her; I had just tried to commit suicide right in front of her and she didn't know I couldn't die. She probably thought I was mad. Well, that makes two of us. I slid my free hand behind her neck. I felt her tense beneath it, but I didn't care. I pulled her head towards mine and kissed her. Not softly. Not even pleasantly. Just with every tightly leashed emotion I'd held in check for two hundred and four years. At first, there was no response. It was as though she'd frozen up in fear. I dropped my hand and pulled back. She wasn't Elizabeth and she didn't deserve this. I'd never even done this to Elizabeth. Olivia looked at me with this bizarre expression. I opened my mouth to spout an apology I didn't mean, but I didn't get the chance to say anything.

She grabbed my shirt at the shoulders and wrenched me towards her, crushing her lips against mine. I lost my balance and fell into her, my hand springing open and the miniature flinging across the floor. For the first time, I didn't care about it. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should just get the hell away from this girl. I knew that whatever happened now was not going to help the situation, but I honestly couldn't think with her hands sliding down the back of my shirt and pulling it up. I couldn't think, just act: kissing her, and frantically unbuttoning her shirt. My shirt. Whatever. Impatient to touch her, I slid my hand inside her nearly unbuttoned shirt. Again, touching her skin was electric – I moved my hand from her waist up to her breast. She gasped in my ear and tugged my shirt up recklessly. I broke from her regretfully to pull the bloody shirt off. Olivia wasted no time; while I was busy with the shirt, she was already working on my jeans.

It was a messy business. Too many hands, too many buttons, torn shirts and jeans flung across the room. But, I hadn't _needed_ a woman this much since that day on the bloody beach. And I'd been so damn careful with Elizabeth. So courteous. I was being neither careful nor courteous with Olivia. I was taking, taking, taking. Sure, I was trailing kisses down her body, but not because I necessarily wanted to hear her moans – it was all about me. _I_ wanted to kiss every inch of her. _I_ wanted to run my hands over her body. _I_ just wanted her. I could care less what she wanted, although I wasn't hearing any complaints. There was a frenetic wave of ecstasy that washed over me just from being _inside _her. The truth was that this was something...primal. This, what Olivia was experiencing, was a side of me that I'd never allowed Elizabeth to see. Something dark that Miss Swann may not have been able to handle. Olivia clutched a handful of my hair, hard – it seemed she could handle it just fine. Nothing mattered now except reaching that one point of bliss with Olivia. Bliss is a too light a word, but I have no words to describe this. It wasn't making love in any sense, but it wasn't just sex. It was a frantic connection that I'd never felt with anyone before.

When it was over, the whole mess of frantic climbing to the top and falling over the edge, I waited for the world to return to me. I didn't even realize that my forehead was resting against Olivia's until I opened my eyes and found her looking back at me, breathing in even gasps. She was looking into my eyes. I knew I should look away. I knew she'd see it, if anyone would. She brushed her palm against my cheek; I closed my eyes and leant into it.

"Your eyes are old, Will."

I didn't say anything. What was there to say? It was the truth. My eyes were old because I was old. I rolled off of her, away from her, and stared out the window. I felt her move beside me.

"What happened to you?"

I thought at first that she meant what happened to me that would make me want to commit suicide, but then I felt her fingers gently tracing the scars on my back. Old, long forgotten scars. I closed my eyes.

"Nothing worth discussing."

"Will, you have scars all over your back."

I rolled over onto my back and looked up at her. "All gone."

She frowned at me and stared at me intently. I was expecting that question now. The one that all girls equate with sex, even mad, animalistic sex. The one to which I have no answer.

"You don't believe in love," she stated.

No questions, just a statement. With that she got up and left the room. She came back moments later, dressed in her tiny dress.

"I'd take away the gun," she said softly, "But I don't believe you were serious. No one who wants to die fucks like that. Besides, I doubt that ancient thing even works."

She turned on her heel and I heard her open the gate to the elevator. I finally got up and pulled my jeans on. I ran out to the elevator. She'd already climbed into it. I moved to join her but she shook her head.

"No, Will. Just send me down."

I nodded, closed the gate and sent the elevator down. She looked up at me before she was nearly out of sight.

"I'm not sure what just happened here, Will. Maybe I'll see you in class," she said without any meaning behind it. Then she was gone. I heard the heavy door close behind her as she left the building. I knew she'd be fine now; the only real danger around here was at night. I stood staring at the empty elevator shaft for a long time. Why was it that the one girl I wanted to stay was the first one to leave?


	6. Your Honor, Part II

DISCLAIMER: Neither lionessrampant84 nor oh-you-pretty-things owns any part of the Pirates of The Caribbean franchise. The aforementioned franchise and its characters belong to the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: Okay I'm posting what we have...and then I'm finishing this solo. (I am oh-you-pretty-things btw).  
_

_**Warning: Story contains disturbing content. It is rated M for a reason. Herein lies character death, suicide, and sexual content. Ye be warned, young 'uns. If you're easily offended by these topics, it's best you don't continue.**_

**Chapter 6 – Your Honor (part 2)**

_You said 'Come on, baby, let's make love,_

_It's the only thing to make me better'_

_You said, 'Come on, let's just_

_Get you out of that sweater.'_

_Well, I don't kiss winners _

_And I don't kiss losers_

_And I don't fight for honor_

_'Cause we all are born sinners._

_-Regina Spektor_

Again, I opened my eyes and was on the beach. It was the same gorgeous tropical beach that it had always been. I was wearing the same smelly tight black cotton dress and strappy shoes that I had been wearing that night. I was standing in the tide, which was suctioning my feet into the sand and ruining my shoes, as usual.

But something was different. The sun had gone down this time. This time, I could feel my solitude with every fiber of my body. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I just stood there.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

My eyes shot open, and I was breathing heavily, still totally unsettled by the dream. It had never done that before. I had always enjoyed that beautiful beach. I was happy to be awake, but still, there was something off. I had a headache. I was not, I concluded, in my flat or my bed. I looked around, logging my surroundings. Oh, right.

But still, my heart was fluttering in my chest. There was nothing out of the ordinary, was there? There was dull, grey light filtering through the windows. There was the familiar hum of traffic and people. And…I was alone in the bed. It just seemed very wrong to me that I was alone in the bed, a feeling which was compounded as I looked around and noticed that I also seemed to be alone in the loft.

I stood up, which shook me a little because Will's bed was so close to the ground. Where was he? I felt frantic suddenly, just as I had in the dream. I looked around.

I finally spotted another sliding door, one I hadn't noticed before (or I probably would have tried to go through the contents of that closet as well. I still felt bad about that.). My feet essentially propelled me towards it, unthinking. The door was cracked open ever so slightly, and I gently pushed it open.

And what I saw there…well, my heart stopped beating.

There he was, standing there looking vacantly out the window with an antique pistol raised to his temple. Just by the way he stood, he looked lost, truly lost. I had no idea what to do. "No," I said, in spite of myself. What _were_ you supposed to do in this situation? I held my breath as though any movement would cause the house of cards before me to topple.

He didn't move. He didn't even look at me. He was somewhere else, and I sincerely hoped that wherever he was wouldn't cause him to the pull the trigger. What would happen then? Would it work? Was he serious? Why? I had never been so scared before.

Not knowing what else to do, I slowly approached him, gentle steps and quiet movements. I reached up and very carefully put my hands over his and pulled the gun down. He let it go immediately. He hadn't been entirely serious. Or he didn't grasp the consequences. Either way, he didn't want to die. He looked at me and his eyes were red and glassy. There was no desperation there. No hysteria. Just this vague, amorphous pain that sent a chill down my spine.

I set the gun down and grabbed his hand. I squeezed it and looked up at him. "Will, whatever it is, it's not worth dying for." But he knew that, didn't he? Or did he?

He looked at me for a moment and then began to laugh. Honestly, I would not have pegged him as someone who had this sort of problem. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what I had gotten myself into. Too many things were not adding up. He was full of confusing twists and frightening turns. If I were smart, I would have called the police or a suicide hotline, waited for them, and gotten the hell out of there. But, despite my fear, I couldn't bring myself to that. Something, some absolutely foolish and deranged little voice in my head, was still telling me to just hold on, hold on.

He looked down at me, and some gear shifted in his brain because he stopped laughing. I had to get him out of this strange little room. I hadn't even noticed what was in it. Didn't seem like much and it didn't seem important right at the moment. I grabbed his arm. Frantically, I felt like if I could just get him to sit down and talk, maybe bring him back…

"Why don't we go out there and sit?" I asked very evenly.

"No," he choked, shaking his head. The glaze reappeared in his eyes. Well, I couldn't force him. I wouldn't.

"Okay, let's just…sit here," I reached out and took his other arm and pulled him down to the floor. He sat down obediently, defeated and drained. I held his arms in mine as though I could offer some sort of comfort to him that way. I looked at him, studying him intently. It was strange, not being able to come to any definite conclusions about him. I was sure, just by being near him, of a _very_ few things: he didn't truly want to die although he was deeply troubled by something and he wanted very much to protect himself. He didn't…_want_ _to be known_.

He was silent until he began that horrible desperate laugh again. "Will…" I began. The calling the suicide hotline option was beginning to look very attractive, if for no other reason than that I just couldn't read him. Not like this. I wouldn't have to leave him, I could just…but, what if he…

But now, he was leaning in close. No words, nothing. Reflexively, I moved back, to which he only responded by sliding his hand behind my neck. I didn't want to do this. This wasn't the right way to do this. But, it was too late. His lips were against mine, and his tongue was in my mouth. The kiss was hot and wet and full of this raw need. I still didn't know what to do.

All I knew what that I couldn't leave his side.

He broke from me and we looked at each other for a moment. It was perhaps the most bizarre thing I had ever felt in my life. I was simultaneously terrified of this man and wholly intrigued by him. I should have wanted to run screaming from him, but all I wanted to do was stay there forever. I should have felt violated. Angry. Anything other than what I felt. Because all that kiss had done was make me want to touch him. Kiss him back. I could feel this huge maelstrom of emotion building up inside of me. So, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him onto me, kissing him with the same reckless abandon he had just kissed me with. I didn't know why. I knew I should leave. It would have been safer to leave, but I couldn't. I didn't do this. This was not like me. But, as I slid my hands up his back and clawed madly at his shirt…

We kissed madly and I kept my hands on his back, trying in vain to push the shirt over his head. He was trying to unbutton the shirt of his I was still wearing, still kissing me, groaning into my mouth. It was all happening so fast, but all I wanted in the world, all that mattered, was _him_. Before he had finished with the buttons, he slid his hand up my torso, from my waist to my chest, his hands electric. He paused there, running a rough finger over my nipple and then grasping my breast hard. He wasn't being nice. He wasn't being careful. And I didn't want him to be.

I tried again to pull the bloody shirt off of him, tugging at it forcefully. Finally, he moved to take it off for me. God, I needed him. Generally, I preferred to be in control. Normally I preferred to be handled a certain way. Not by him. Not today. Before even I knew what I was doing, my hands were ripping open designer buttons and designer zippers, pushing his jeans and underwear off his hips. He wiggled out of them and, for full effect, I flung them across the floor. Finally frustrated with the buttons on the shirt I was wearing, he wrenched it open. I slithered out of my panties and threw those, too.

It was all so sudden, but his hands were suddenly back on my breasts, his thumbs recklessly teasing me. He dragged his hands down my sides and soon, his mouth replaced his hands on my chest. I clawed helplessly at his back as he kissed my body; hot, wet, greedy kisses. My hands were in his hair, then, grasping his shoulders, then, as he moved down my body, back in his hair. I sort of pulled him roughly back up to me, and immediately, we were lost in the same sloppy, needy kisses as before. Only now, his finger was on my clit and he was stroking it madly. Not even teasingly, and certainly not gently. I gasped and arched violently into him, pulling his hair, hard. These kisses and caresses were not for me. They served one purpose and one purpose only. That I knew, and it drove me wild.

I ran my nails down his chest and he groaned, then I took him in my hand in a motion just as selfish and reckless as his. He gritted his teeth as I moved, but he didn't let me very far, before he grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the floor. Before I had really registered anything, he was inside me.

I had never felt anything like it before. I couldn't explain it. I couldn't collect my thoughts. I was just completely lost in our motions, his skin up against mine felt like heaven. The pleasure of it all, as he moved fast and hard against me, came in these uneven, choppy waves. I wrapped my legs around his back and pulled him deep into me. There were no words for this; it wasn't anything romantic by any means, but it certainly wasn't just fucking, either. It was passionate and raw, whatever it was, fulfilling some unspoken need deep inside of me and was clearly against my better judgment.

The friction his movements against me were causing something to well up inside of me. I had had orgasms before, but none of them started like this. Nothing I had ever done before felt like this. The fingernails of one of my hands were tearing madly at his back, the other hand tangled into his hair, gripping it wildly. My breath was ragged and came out in pants. I wanted to scream. Maybe I did. No one else had ever made me feel quite like this. _Could_ anyone else make me feel quite like this?

Finally, finally, I came, my body convulsing jaggedly around him. I know I must have yelled then, my eyes squeezed shut tight and the most overwhelming release washing over my body, coursing through my veins. Not two seconds later, he cried out as well and collapsed against me. We both lay there for a moment, our foreheads against each other. His eyes were closed tight and I studied him, his weight against me was still comforting and familiar, his breathing uneven.

When he opened his eyes, that's when I saw it. Those big brown eyes staring right into mine. How had I missed it before? But those eyes…they had seen a lot in their time. Maybe even things that were unspeakable, things I couldn't understand. His eyes held a wisdom that could only come with the right combination of experience and time. They were tired eyes. I raised my hand to his cheek and held his face in my hands. "Your eyes are old, Will."

He rolled off of me then as though I had said something wrong. No, not wrong, but something that cut deep. I felt bad that after all that, I should say something to dredge up that dull pain his eyes had held before. The pain that had apparently made him want to end it all.

I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at him. All across his back was a horrible maze of mean-looking scars. More mystery. More pain. "What happened to you?"

I traced the scars and he tensed beneath my fingers, shutting his eyes.

"Nothing worth discussing."

"Will, you have scars all over your back."

He rolled over onto his back and peered up at me with those heavy eyes. "All gone."

I studied him at length, trying to make sense of it all in my head. His solitude, his posh but empty flat, the casual avoidance, the sketch in the courtyard, the ancient pistol, the mad, frenzied sex, the ache in his ancient eyes. There were loose ends everywhere, it was true, but now I realized one theme that resonated through all of those things. The mystery wasn't gone, not even close. In fact, I still wasn't entirely sure what had just transpired, but now I could see it. Something had happened. Something had ripped his heart from his chest at some point and it had changed him somehow. He didn't want to protect himself from his old pain. No, that wasn't it at all. He wanted to protect the world from _him_.

It hit me then. "You don't believe in love," I stated, more out of my own realization than for his benefit.

I got up and walked out of the room, suddenly ashamed that I'd been naïve enough to believe that there was so great cosmic force behind all of this. Shocked that I'd done what I did. Everything, from inviting him to the club, to going through his wallet, to sleeping in his bed, to thinking in some remote region of my brain I could save him from himself. To think that I had been meant to be here the whole time.

Tears were stinging the corners of my eyes as I walked into the bathroom and retrieved my dress. I put it on and slipped on my shoes, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pale, my hair unkempt and my eyes bloodshot. The Olivia looking back at me looked every bit as overwhelmed and uncertain as I felt. I sighed and wiped away the unshed tears. It was time to go.

I walked back into the strange little room I had left Will in, and there he was, still on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"I'd take away the gun," I began, "but I don't believe you were serious. No one who wants to die fucks like that. Besides, I doubt the ancient thing even works."

I left the room then, not looking back. I climbed into the elevator. I had no idea how to work it, but by god, I would learn, and quickly. I just had to get out of there. But, of course, Will appeared.

"No, Will. Just send me down."

He nodded very slightly and sent me down. I tried very hard not to look up at him, but I couldn't resist. "I'm not sure what just happened here, Will. Maybe I'll see you in class," I said flatly before I was out of sight.

I walked out of the warehouse and onto the street. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry really badly, actually, but couldn't. And what was there to cry about? My own stupidity? My own complete and total breakdown in judgment? I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. I had no idea where I was, other than close to the water.

I looked around. From the textile shop in Will's building a strange, beautiful Mediterranean-looking woman with perfect hair and mischievous black eyes peered out at my from behind the counter and smiled wickedly. My eyes were wide as I turned from her, eager to get my bearings.

I finally did and I began walking quickly, my head down. It was clear that the locals were somewhat amused by my presence, though no one seemed to talk to me. No one except for one short, partially bald man with a dirty face and mangy hair. His eyes followed me, a sneer on his face.

"'Ello, poppet," he said, just as I passed him. I jumped, startled, and my brisk walk broke into a weak, girly run. I could hear him and his equally unwashed mates laugh as I ran away from them. I just wanted out of there. Was that too much to ask?

Eventually, I found a subway station, and I let the breath I didn't realized I'd been holding out, relieved. The trip was mercifully short and no one else bothered me or even really noticed me and I was glad for that. I walked, defeated, back to my flat. I unlocked the door; my roommate was home somewhere, so I made every effort to dart into my room before she saw me and told me to do her laundry and scrub the floor with a toothbrush.

Success! I collapsed down on my bed and let all of the puzzling emotions from the day flood over me. Something had drawn me to Will. And perhaps that same thing had caused me to do..all the things I did. In retrospect, a poor choice. The man clearly had a few screw loose. Maybe I should alert someone. Maybe I should never speak to him again. Maybe I should just…I didn't know what I should do, is what it came down to. At any rate, all I wanted to do was bury my head in the sand and not deal with it.

I had been so brazen at first. Our connection had been so electric. I could feel myself falling, perhaps…no, that was stupid. And he hadn't felt it either. Love didn't exist to him at all. So what happened on the floor…was it all some kind of sick act he did? Was he like some sort of human Venus Flytrap that lured its prey in by possessing some sort of weird _je ne sais quoi_ before he, well, ate them? I had been _so sure_ the previous night. But it had apparently just been the rum making choices on my behalf.

At any rate, I decided that it was not a situation I should be involved in. But, then, I did owe him an apology for anything I may have done to trigger this morning's events. Yes, I would apologize, make sure he knew that it wasn't _like_ that, and then, I would leave him alone forever. As I drifted into a merciful sleep, I made a plan to corner him after class on Monday. All of this offered intense relief.


	7. Ways and Means

DISCLAIMER: Neither lionessrampant84 nor oh-you-pretty-things owns any part of the Pirates of The Caribbean franchise. The aforementioned franchise and its characters belong to the Walt Disney Corporation.

_AN: Man, sorry for the wait. My life is crazy...le sigh.  
_

_**Warning: Story contains disturbing content. It is rated M for a reason. Herein lies character death, suicide, and sexual content. Ye be warned, young 'uns. If you're easily offended by these topics, it's best you don't continue.**_

**Chapter 7 – Ways and Means**

_Getting too busy to make amends  
I should try to make it right  
Are you ready for the shit to hit?  
I think you say you are but aren't  
Doctor make it better instantly  
You're the only one who can  
I've waited here my whole damn life  
And I've forgotten what I wanted_

_Maybe I can do it  
If I put my back into it  
I can leave you if I wanted  
But there's nowhere else that I can go_

_Maybe I won't suffer  
If I find a way to love her  
I'd be lying to myself  
But there is no way out that I can see_

_If I lied you'd know it instantly  
So I just had to look away  
All the honesty I've ever lost  
I can't begin to even curse  
I never knew the taste of blood till now  
It's clear I never should have known  
Breathing fire was never this much fun  
So there's a dark side in us all_

_ ~ Snow Patrol_

I woke up in the Caribbean. I hadn't even opened my eyes, but I knew where I was. I spread my palm against the hot, smooth rock beside me. Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was the softness of a woman's skin beneath my hand instead of volcanic debris. I smiled and inhaled the sea. Once upon a time there'd been Elizabeth. Oh, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth. I opened my eyes and stared at my hand, resting flat against the rock.

Elizabeth was gone. Gone forever. No more. Finished. Over. Dead. I sat up, sand trickling from my hair down the back of my shirt. Looking down I could see that I was wearing designer distressed, bootcut jeans and a black, long sleeved t-shirt. Hardly pirate fare. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. I hadn't been to this particular island in over two hundred years. Oh yes, the island still existed – I kept tabs on it, but I would never, ever go back there. Never. I looked out into the neverending ocean and wondered silently where her cruel mistress was. Why was I here, of all places?

I turned my head and looked down the beach. Empty. Totally empty except for some splotch of blue in the distance. What the hell could that be? Probably pollution. Plastic washed up ashore. Tall, human shaped plastic. Bugger. My body moved of its own accord and suddenly I was walking towards the indefinable person in the distance. Who was it? Elizabeth? How was that possible? But anything is possible in dreams. I started to run. Running, running, running. No matter how fast or hard I ran, I could never catch up to her...or him...or whatever. But I wanted to. I wanted to know who this person was. What were they doing on our island? Why was this happening? Why couldn't I ever get some peace?

As though on cue, the irritating ring of my alarm clock sounded systematically in my ear. I slammed my hand down on the clock to silence it and stared at the ceiling. This has to do with Olivia. It must. Ever since that night last week, my life had been topsy turvy. I'd managed to avoid her brilliantly all week, but today I had Neoclassical. Today I would see her whether I wanted to or not. Today. Olivia. Today. Fuck.

I made it to the University with just enough time to have a smoke and run inside. I paced like a wild animal by the doorway to the building, puffing away incessantly at my cigarette. To go or not to go, that was the question. Whether it was nobler to… Oh shut up. Why the hell am I paraphrasing bloody Shakespeare now? My muscles were all tightly wound, coiled and ready to spring. But spring into what, I wondered? I felt that if I saw her I would either run from her or run to her. There was no middle ground. The smart thing to do would be to drop Neoclassical and never return to the class. After all, I have all the time in the world. But, herein lies the rub. According to our class syllabus, we were covering piracy in the 1700s today. Now, honestly, this was the only reason I was taking the class. Today's class was the pinnacle of my University career! Alright, it wasn't so much important as it was entertaining. How many facts would be dismissed as tall tales? How many great feats would be listed under the wrong pirate lord? How badly would they mutilate the tragic "tall tale" of the female Pirate King and her immortal husband, doomed forever to be the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, the cursed ghost ship?

I threw my cigarette stub on the ground and stamped it out, deciding finally to head to class. I would be late, but that would mean that Olivia would be settled in her seat by then and I could avoid her like the plague while I relived old memories. I approached the lecture hall with edgy caution, just in case she happened to be waiting outside to confront me. She would, of course, someday confront me if I made no move to run away from Liverpool. She would catch me one day and corner me and make me talk about last week. Or she'd sick those annoying suicide watch people upon me and I would have to fake loving life by joining some poncey sports team. It made me tired just thinking about it.

She was not waiting for me outside the hall, thank the gods. I slid through the partially opened door and headed directly into my back corner while scanning the hall for her. I was just turning to sit when I noticed that someone had rudely taken my corner spot. Bullocks to my coming to class late plan. That person was, indeed, Olivia. She smirked at me smugly.

"Could you sit please? I'm trying to learn something."

I gave her a quick miserable glare and turned around. The professor had started to speak and other late slackers had filed into the row behind me. The only seat available was the one directly next to Olivia. I felt something low and guttural in my throat. I think I growled. Actually growled. I slumped into the seat beside Olivia, who looked smugly amused by my predicament. I slouched in my seat and opened my notebook. The professor was prattling on about British Royal Navy and the great Commodores of the time. Norrington was not among them. A pile of photocopied handouts made their way to us. I recognized some of the names on the sheet and suddenly Olivia wasn't there. I was back, back to where I belonged. _Captain Hector Barbossa of the Black Pearl._ I started to scribble words in the margin beside the names. For example, I wrote the words 'undead false' in front of Barbossa's name. _Captain Jack Sparrow of the Wicked Wench._ I scratched out Wicked Wench and placed Black Pearl in instead. They were, in fact, the same ship, but the Pearl had always been Jack's. Then I saw it:

_Captain Elizabeth Swann, Pirate King of the Fourth Brethren Court._ And it went on: _Elizabeth Swann was born to the English Govenor, Weatherby Swann and his wife Julia Swann. Elizabeth's turn from the pampered life is dated back to her 18__th__ year when she left Port Royal with Captain Barbossa._ (Lies)_ It was said that she sailed the seas with Barbossa for a couple of years _(Days) _before returning to Port Royal, Jamaica where she left a Commodore of the British Royal Navy at the altar _(Hardly. He wished he could get her that far.) _She instead attempted to marry a pirate and former blacksmith, name unknown. _(Ouch) _The pair ran from the India Trading Company for years. There is no record of her marriage. In the great battle between the Brethren Court and the India Trading Company, Elizabeth was named the Pirate King because of her great valour and motivational skills. _(More like Jack's great conning skills.) _Elizabeth's name has been linked heavily to the tale of the Flying Dutchman._

There it stopped. I glanced over to see Olivia leaning in and reading my edits. She then extended her hand and wrote on the corner of my sheet.

_Didn't know you knew so much about pirates. _

I scowled at her and pulled the notebook from the desk into my lap. I started tapping my pen against the edge of the desk as the professor went on. I really wanted to be in this class but I was having a horrible time concentrating with Olivia sitting so close by. I could feel her eyes on me at times and it irritated me. I don't know why, but it did. I focussed on her shoe in all it's annoying glory. Honestly. There was nothing to worry about here. There was absolutely no way I could be involved with someone who wore shoes like that – last week was a moment of insanity. Several moments of insanity. It must have been driven forward by the fact that she looked so damn much like Elizabeth. That's all it was. But then I found my eyes travelling up her leg – alright, the sex had been...interesting.

I looked up at her face and found her staring back at me with an amused smile and her pen hanging out of her mouth. If we weren't in the middle of a lecture hall, I would have pulled the pen from her mouth and kissed her. I found myself leaning in as it was. What the hell was with that?

"The Flying Dutchman was, according to folklore at the time, a ghost ship that could never go home," the professor stated with confidence.

My reverie was broken and I twisted away from Olivia, muttering under my breath. "Bullocks."

"It was said that if she is hailed by another ship, her crew would often try to send messages to land or to people long since dead. In ocean lore, the sight of this phantom ship is reckoned by seafarers to be a portent of doom."

Well, that was depressing. I am the immortal captain of a portent of doom. Thank you, Professor Willouhgby. He was prattling on some more hearsay and it was starting to darken my mood any further. I should have stayed in bed. No Olivia, no irritating speculation.

"In Fitzball's play, the Captain is allowed to go to shore once every hundred years, in order to seek a woman to share his fate. In Wagner's opera, it is once every seven years." In reality, it was once every ten years and in my opinion, her fate was even worse than mine.

My irritation was in full swing now. I sat up straight and prepared to leave the lecture hall, but good old Professor Willoughby had to throw in that last bit.

"There isn't much said about how the presumed Pirate King, Captain Elizabeth Swann was connected to the Flying Dutchman. It was said that the Captain of the Flying Dutchman was her husband, but this has been discounted by most scholars as folklore developed to make her look more powerful than what she really was. To negate the reality of her life –that she was, in fact, a loose woman with a murderous history. Many such..."

I stopped listening to him. All I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. Somehow within my rage I had managed to leave the lecture hall. I had slammed the door open and I was gone, heading out into the square so that I could pop a bloody cigarette in my mouth and calm down. Elizabeth Swann, a loose woman? Hardly. Morally, she had her faults, but the truth of the matter was that I would not have been able to come ashore had she not _faithfully_ waited for me in those ten year spans. Elizabeth was anything but _loose._ I struggled to light my cigarette in my anger. I paced the square a bit feverishly until I turned and nearly collided with Olivia. Seeing her was the last straw. I ran both my hands through my hair and turned towards the gazebo. I took a deep breath, being sure to inhale deeply through my cigarette.

"Something is wrong," she said in that irritatingly perceptive manner of hers.

Of course something was wrong! That professor had just implied that my long dead _wife_ was little more than a whore. Not to mention the fact that _you_ were sitting in my seat looking so damn attractive even in the most hideous clothing. Let's compound this all with the fact that my long absent emotions have decided to return and are making me have absurd dreams of an island I prefer not to think about. Luckily I had decided _not_ to say this all out loud. My shoulders slumped; I pulled the cigarette from my mouth and dropped my arms limply at my sides.

"I'm just tired, Olivia," I said softly. The weather seemed to anticipate my dark mood and accompanied it with a load of rain. "Very, very tired."

"Of life," she said, so assuredly.

Certainly it would be a perceptive statement given my prior pistol antics, but she was off just a little bit even so.

"Of death."

I turned back to her finally noticing for the first time that she was...human. She stood there, drenched through to the bone, clutching her arms and holding back shivers. I dropped my sodden, limp cigarette and walked towards her, pulling off my jacket as I went. I stopped before her and draped it around her shoulders. The cold rain would do nothing to me, but it could kill her. She was too vibrant to die so young and I'll be damned if I'll let her die from pneumonia because of me. Her bottom lip trembled and I leaned in, as though sucked into its gravitational pull. My forehead leaned against hers gently and I pulled my jacket closed around the front of her.

I could have kissed her then. It would have been a simple thing. But I would never have known why I'd done it. I sighed and stood up straight again, cool raindrops rolling down my neck and chilling me. Oh, Olivia. Don't you understand?

"I'm no good for you," I whispered. I wondered if she could even hear me over the heavy rainfall.

Olivia looked at me through the thick curtain of rain, her small hands clutching at the collar of my jacket to keep it closed around her. She was silent for a moment and then her voice hit me clear as day.

"I just want to talk, Will."

Talk about fucking on the floor? No, thank you. As though reading my mind, she continued.

"Not about last week. Just...talk. I just...want to know you," she said with a shrug.

How could I argue with that? I thought about this for a moment. Somehow, just hearing her voice had quelled my anger. She'd stifled all the rage that the uncovered memories, tarnished by history, had brought forth. Just like that. I was actually glad that she had followed me. I only just realized that.

"Why don't we go to my flat? It's not far from here," she suggested.

I looked at her incredulously. I don't bloody think so. Being alone with her was a dangerous concept. I doubted we'd get much talking done that way, despite the fact that I wasn't planning on doing much talking. It wasn't that I had nothing to say; it was that there was too much. And, when there's too much, it's better to say nothing at all.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I replied, yelling over the rain which pelted down harder.

"How about yours then?" she shouted.

No. Way. In. Hell. "I don't think that's a good idea," I repeated.

Olivia took a step and closed the distance between us. "Then how about we go somewhere to get out of this bloody rain?" she asked, teeth chattering and heat radiating off of her body.

I nodded. Fair enough. I glanced out towards the road. There was supposedly a cafe up the road that was popular with students. There would be other people there, I wouldn't be tempted to do anything foolish. I'd be fine. Fine. I opened my mouth to suggest it, but Olivia had either seen where I was looking or anticipated my decision because her hand was already on mine and we were already heading for the walkway around the perimeter of the building. There was an overhang and to suddenly be out of the cold rain was even more chilling. I shivered as I walked beside her. My mind was racing, but what it was racing with was not coherent at all. I needed to stop for a moment. Just a moment. To clear my head and make sense of my actions. I couldn't think around this girl. I just sprung into action like a lovesick twenty-two year old. I may have looked the part, but I certainly didn't feel it.

"Olivia," I said.

She paused and looked at me. I don't know what I wanted to say to her, or why I called out her name. Did I have something to say? Did I simply want to look at her face again? Did I need some sort of confirmation? Guidance? What was I even doing? What could I possibly say to this girl? What could she say to me? I must have been wearing my confusion like a mask. Olivia smiled ever so slightly and stretched her arms out from my jacket. She ran her hands down the side of my face and pulled my head down slightly. She stretched her face up, her nose barely brushing mine and then she hesitated as my breath caught, hesitated only for a second before her lips brushed mine tentatively. I don't know why or how, but my confusion seemed to clear as I kissed her back. There was something comforting in the way her hands slid through my hair, something nourishing to my soul when I allowed myself to slide my hands around her waist.

I felt my jacket slide from her shoulders and the cool breeze against my fingers reminded me that she was very mortal and very susceptible to illness. I broke the kiss delicately and smiled involuntarily as I leaned down to pick up the jacket and wrap it around her again. This time she slid her arms into the sleeves properly and reached her hand out to mine. I looked at her hand and felt the fight leave me. I'd go to the cafe and listen to what she had to say, maybe even answer her questions. I'd like to say that there'd be no harm in talking with her, but I'm afraid that would probably be where most of the harm would lie. For better or worse, I took her hand.


	8. This Island

**Chapter 8 – This Island**

_You must not love to hate_

_You must not take the bait_

_You'd say the same thing to me_

_Rent's high and the war's on_

_And it's last call_

_Even your friends look worried_

_And you think you're smart_

_I think you're super fine_

_But it's high time_

_I mean its high tide_

_AKA a fine line, inside_

_Stop smoking those cigarettes, baby_

_Next time, it's your turn to save me_

_Splash some water on your little face_

'_Cause you're a mess, you're a mess, you're a mess_

_-Le Tigre_

It had been a week since the suicide incident. Still no sign of Will, although not from lack of trying. He avoided class on Monday and Wednesday. I had seen him on the courtyard and tried to track him down with no luck, despite running through crowds of people yelling his name like an absolute moron. Then, I had chased him home on my bike, and still did not manage to stop him. He must have expertly darted into some building, because I was sure I would get him then.

Of course, as the week had progressed, my feelings began to change. As I watched him from a distance, I couldn't deny that the instinctive attraction was still there. I couldn't deny being drawn to him like a moth to a bare bulb. It was instinct, not anything else. I wanted to know him. I wanted to know everything about him. My more logical side knew that this was very silly and a total mistake. Who, in their right mind, wants to be with the strange, elusive, secretive, solitary and perhaps even suicidal man that held a gun to his head immediately before fucking them on the floor? The logical answer would be to head screaming for the hills. It would be to go back and find Rob, maybe. Get his number and know him if being in a relationship was so important to my subconscious right now. But the harder I tried to find Will to tell him to have a nice life, the more I _wanted_ him. My heart was getting ahead of itself, as it often does. Logical or not, I wanted to be near him. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to talk to him.

Be still, my stupid heart.

So, I had decided that, based on the attendance requirements clearly outlines in Professor Willouhgby's syllabus, he was going to have to show up to class at some point if he wanted to pass. Maybe he didn't care. But that was a risk I was willing to take. I had the brilliant idea of sitting in his usual seat at the back on Wednesday, after I had noticed it decidedly not filled on Monday. I had decided to park it there until he showed up. He'd at least come for the final. Patience, I decided, was a virtue, and I had plenty to go 'round.

Of course, I hadn't actually needed to wait very long, because he showed up to the next class.

My plan had worked well. Very well, in fact, that not only had I cornered him into sitting next to me, but he also sat there awkwardly fidgeting and trying to avoid my eyes. Until the lecture started, of course. Then, he was successfully able to distract himself. The subject matter was on pirates of all things. I couldn't actually figure out why or how learning this was necessary to my education and how it would better me as a human being, but there it was. It was sort of surprisingly interesting, though it irritated me mildly that for the entire class, there was only mention of one female pirate. I supposed that pretty much gelled with the rest of history from that period, anyway. But she must have been incredibly awesome and lethal to hold her own against all of the other pirates.

For a time, Will was rapt. Honestly, men never _do_ outgrow their childhood obsessions with pirates, ninjas, becoming a football star or a racecar driver or whatever else. Will, well, he had apparently been into pirates as a child, because he was scribbling rather furiously into the margins of the handout we had received. I looked over, once again curious to see what he found so important from this particular lecture. Was he studying pirate-ology or something?

His handwriting was absolutely gorgeous; sweeping strokes that made it seem like he was more used to writing with a quill than a ballpoint pen. I had to squint to read it, and for the most part, couldn't. He had switched a few of the titles of the ships around, as though he had studied this all before and knew better than the professor did. I smirked and wrote a bit in the margin of his paper, just to tease him a little bit about his apparent pirate obsession. Only out of feeling mildly annoyed with him. And, a little bit out of just wanting to spark some kind, any kind, of reaction from him.

He jerked his notebook away from me and put it on his lap. Okay, then. Professor Willouhgby was now droning on about various pirate strongholds in the Caribbean throughout the British colonization of the area. I was a little surprised at myself; I hadn't expected to find this all so fascinating. But, I could picture places like Port Royal, Jamaica and the island of Tortuga so well in my head. I mentally added the Caribbean to the long list of places to see when I finally got out of here. Maybe I could go on an archeological dive off of Port Royal…

I could feel Will's eyes on me. It was strange how I could just _tell _with him. It was strange that instead of feeling very confused and perhaps also very freaked out, I felt smug. I kind of _liked_ that he was checking me out, right there, right in the middle of Neoclassical History. My emotions had again shifted wildly; he was the tragically abnormal and hideously depressed mystery man that reason suggested would be a poor choice of companion, but I absolutely _reveled_ in what little attention I was receiving from him.

I looked up at him, my pen hanging absently from my mouth, and…was I smiling? I was. He leaned in slightly, as though reading my mind. I was entranced by him. It was crazy, but if we hadn't been in a completely full lecture hall, I would have kissed him right then. What had he done to me? What had I become? But, I wanted it so badly.

Suddenly, he twisted away from me, at the mention of a ghost ship. A ghost ship had been all it had taken to wrench his attention away from me. How fucking romantic. I was suddenly, and without reason, highly resentful of that stupid ghost ship. A portent of fucking doom, indeed. I recognized its name from other classes, works of art; _The Flying Dutchman_ and its highly unfortunate captain had been a favorite and nearly universal myth it seemed.

Will also looked irritated by _The Flying Dutchman_.

But, as the lecture continued and Professor Willouhgby was now linking my new favorite female pirate ever, one Captain Swann, to the stupid ghost ship, and I perked up at this. It was interesting, the speculation that she may have been married to the eternally damned captain of _The Flying Dutchman_ for several reasons. First of all, it pretty much railed against half of the folklore we had just been lectured on anyway. Secondly, I found the idea of monogamous pirates somewhat odd, especially when her husband would only be able to step on land once every 7-100 years, depending on whose account you went with. And then, the Professor had mentioned that some tales have the _Dutchman_ being an evil and merciless ship. Could she go with him if he couldn't step on land? Probably not, given that the _Dutchman_ may or may not have been out terrorizing people at all times. What a highly unfortunate relationship it would have been. It actually…well, it sort of broke my heart.

But, it had apparently been untrue, which actually _relieved_ me somewhat. Here I was, getting all upset over folklore, which was, well, only folklore anyway. I was also somewhat relieved to know that my new friend Captain Swann had been just that, a pirate, rather than a star-crossed lover in what could be on the top ten list of the most depressing marriages ever, right next to Romeo and Juliet. Apparently, she had been fond of killing, pillaging, rum and, most especially, sex. How sweet. History was written by a bunch of dirty misogynists, anyway.

Apparently, something about this had unsettled Will as well. I heard the door slam before I actually saw the empty seat next to me. Without a word, he had stormed out of the classroom. I sat there, unable to really listen to the rest of the lecture. Something about a curse and a kidnapping. I didn't know. What was wrong? Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. I got up, too, not sure where my legs were taking me. Out of the classroom anyway, down the hall. Out the doors, into the square.

_Of course_ that was where he had been. The clouds were dark and ominous, presumably threatening one of those freezing March rains. I had forgotten to bring a coat, not that it really mattered. All that mattered to me right then was Will; making sure he was ok, making sure he was taken care of. I didn't even know this man, but I could relate to the emotion in his eyes automatically. I was a stupid, stupid woman.

"Something is wrong," I stated. Not a question, but an assertive statement that he wouldn't be able to hide from.

He seemed to slump in defeat, dropping arms to his side powerlessly. He looked drained. He looked completely spent. He looked lost. "I'm just tired, Olivia. Very, very tired."

It made some sense, although I believed he meant it in a very broad sense. My heart ached in my chest. "Of life," I concluded. The rain had started, the skies opening up in a downpour of millions of little icy daggers.

"Of death," he corrected cryptically before turning back to me. I wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but the previous suicide attempt had apparently not been the first. This man was consumed by something that reached far beyond the borders of my narrow twenty-two year old comprehension. He wasn't sick or sinister. He wasn't totally deranged. He was just…_lost_. A fish out of water.

I stood there and studied him for a time, the rain chilling me to the bone. I was soaked, but had no intention of leaving him standing there. Not after I had looked for him all week. Not when I finally had him standing here, not running from me. What was it I had wanted to say? Now, I couldn't find the words. I didn't want to find those words.

He moved towards me, finally, and was now inches from me. He draped his coat around my shoulders leaned his forehead against mine, almost as though he were going to kiss me. Almost as though he wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted him to kiss me. Instead, he spoke.

"I'm no good for you."

But that wouldn't do. He was saying that because he wanted to preserve and protect; which one of us, I couldn't be sure. I knew this wasn't a mistake then. I knew that on some level, he was drawn to me, too. I just didn't know…him.

"I just want to talk, Will," I said clutching his jacket around me. And there it was. My carefully rehearsed speech that had been a week in the making had been tossed to the wind. He raised his eyebrows very, very slightly and had I lacked my strange sixth sense about him, I likely would have missed it. I knew exactly what he wanted to say. "Not about last week. Just…talk. I just…" And then I went and dropped the bomb, for better or for worse. "…Want to know you." I looked away and shrugged, mildly afraid that his reaction would not be the one I wanted.

He relaxed a little bit. His features just…loosened in a way I hadn't seen. He was letting go. Just a little bit, but he wasn't going to immediately shoot me down for once. "Why don't we go to my flat? It's not far from here."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"How about yours then?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Instinctively, I stepped towards him. It could have been because I was losing body heat very rapidly, my teeth chattering violently, or it could have been because I just wanted to be closer to him, which was an idea I was finally beginning to be at peace with. "Then how about we go somewhere to get out of this bloody rain?"

No sooner had he nodded quietly in agreement, I was dragging him down the street. Again. I knew of a café where we could both dry off and get a cup of coffee and would be able to act strictly platonically in the company of several of our classmates. My mind was reeling. What would I ask him that would make it all make sense? Was I just supposed to order a latte and tell him that I couldn't get enough of him? Bite into a scone and ask him about his intention to kill himself? Should I admit that I went through his things? Ask him where he kept his photos and receipts? Maybe I could just stomp my feet and demand he let me in. Because as we walked, all I could feel was my hand grasping his. All I could smell was the rain and his coat wrapped around me. This man was driving me absolutely mad.

He stopped very suddenly and I shivered involuntarily. He was looking at me with this look that reflected everything I had just been thinking. The same confusion. The same helplessness. The same desire.

"Olivia," he said. But he had nothing else to say to me and I knew that. I looked at him for a moment and studied his absurdly familiar features. Oh, fuck it. I knew what I wanted. I knew what he wanted. I had lost any and all patience I had right along with my sanity. Without another word, without asking him what he wanted, I brought my hands to his face and lowered it down to meet mine. Very slowly, very softly, I kissed him properly this time. My hands were around his neck and his arms curled around my waist, the soaked jacket sliding to the ground. I just kissed him with everything that had been welling up since last week, everything since I left his loft. Let it all go. And, at that point, my mind was officially made up.

We arrived at the café, and not a moment too soon. I felt soaked to the bone and I was sporting white fingers and chilling purple nails. The warmth inside of the café was incredible.

I ordered a chai latte and a blueberry scone that I absolutely could not keep my eyes off of. Will ordered coffee. Black, no room for cream. No food. Jesus, not even his choice in caffeinated beverages gave me much insight into his persona. We found a table in the corner near a window and sat wordlessly. He sipped his coffee and silently stared at the rain outside of the window as I picked at my scone, wondering what it was I had to say to him. What could you say to someone like Will? Where did one even begin?

Finally, I decided on a rather innocuous question. "So," I started, "how has your week been?"

Ok, so given what I had witnessed last week, it was perhaps a less innocuous question than I had originally calculated. I wanted to take it back and start over, but there Will was, looking at me as though I was crazy. Of course, that was old news.

At length he replied. "Ok," he said, with a slight shrug.

He turned to look out of the window again. He was really beginning to infuriate me; kissing me like that and wrapping me in his coat one minute, then completely ignoring me the next minute. I thought I could read him. I thought I saw the same recognition in his eyes. I believe, though, that the thing that infuriated me the most was how much I wanted him, despite that all signs clearly pointed to 'no'. Not only did all of the external circumstances add up to an outlook that was quite grim, there was now the uncooperative manner in which he was acting. So, why did fate keep intervening like this? It made no sense. It was so stupid. I hated it. I wanted to scream.

And, eventually, I couldn't hold it back any longer. "Look, Will. We said we were going to talk, right?" He turned to me slowly. "Yet, here we are, sitting in this awkward silence in which I can only imagine that you're calculating exactly what excuse you can use to leave immediately while I sit here, eating this scone just to give my mouth something to do. Are we going to talk or not? I thought that was the agreement, anyway."

"Look, Olivia…"

But, I hadn't really registered that he was talking. "I don't know what you want from me. What do you fucking want from me, anyway? You sketch me in the square, you take me home with you, then you go and…" I stopped and caught my breath. We had decided not to talk about last week, hadn't we? "Listen, I just don't know why we're sitting here in silence not talking right now. I'm sorry. You were saying?"

He just rolled his eyes and shook his head, like this trip to the café had been the worst idea ever. It made me so angry with him. It was this really raw anger, too, that I couldn't contain. Will said nothing.

"What happened with the gun, Will?" I asked, before I had any idea of what I was saying. He sighed and looked away, still silent, but something in his expression had changed. Something was a little less guarded. He was actually thinking of what to _say_. But there was nothing he could say, was there? I should have thought that through. I wanted to take it back.

"Will, I'm sorry. I was just…frustrated. I'm sorry." He looked at me, studying me. I sighed. I would just try again.

I smiled weakly. "Will, where are you from?"

He relaxed a little and squared his body to face me. At least there didn't seem to be any demons where his upbringing was concerned. "London," he answered simply.

Ok, so one word was better than no words. "And what brought you to Uni up here? What are you studying?"

"Architecture."

Perhaps, I was beginning to think, I should reformulate my questions so that there was no possible way he could respond with one word. "Why architecture?"

He just shrugged. "It's something to do."

Ok, so, thus far the score was Will 3, Olivia 0. Although, I _did_ know that he came from London and was studying architecture for no apparent reason. I suppose that was more than I had known before. It was even more than I'd known from going through his things, but I was in no mood to concede this battle to him. "Oh, come on. You don't study something like architecture just because you're bored. There has to be a reason." I sighed. "So, why architecture?"

He was silent for a second. "You see those arches?" he said quietly, pointing to a doorway behind us. "They're Lancet Arches." He shrugged. "It gives me something to notice."

"But what about your career? Your life?" I was growing steadily more and more tired with him and his maddening tendency to withhold information. "What do you want to do with your life?"

He just looked away.

"I mean, you have to want _something_. Obviously you've seen the world with all of those things at your loft." I paused. "Where did you get all of those things?"

He looked at me, one eyebrow raised as though he couldn't believe he was here listening to me. He had fucking agreed to be here listening to me. Another casual shrug. "Around," he said simply.

"Around?"

"Yeah, all over the place."

This was something, finally! Something significant, something that perhaps we shared. My anger was slightly quelled, although this energized me even more. "Well," I started. "Why were you traveling?"

"Why not?"

"But where have you been?"

He loosened a little and laughed very slightly. "Where _haven't_ I been?"

"But…" I smiled really stupidly, then, just because I was finally getting what I came for. Sort of. "I want to travel! I've never been anywhere."

He smiled in that weary way of his, the age in his eyes once again starkly apparent. "Oh yeah? Where are you from?"

My jaw dropped. He looked suddenly just as surprised as I did. Did he just…contribute to the conversation? "Keswick, up north."

He nodded, still silent.

But, I just kept right on talking, didn't I? I was fuelled by his passing interest in me, his slight ease at that very moment. "I had to get out, though. My father was a minister. And…I fell in love. With someone decidedly not to his liking." I took a bite of my scone absently. "So, I left. To find him originally, but…I fell into Uni here. And I'm happy…" my voice trailed off and I shrugged, not having really realized what I was talking about.

"Love should never be a reason to do anything," he said with dark, quiet severity.

I was caught off guard by this. I already knew it, I had already seen it in his eyes last weekend. But his own confirmation, the way his voice lowered when he said it…It wasn't something I really wanted to believe any human being was capable of. Especially not Will.

My eyes narrowed and my own voice dropped to a whisper. "How can you say that?"

"Because I know it's true," he replied quietly, absently dragging his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. He didn't meet my eyes.

"No, it isn't!" I said, too loudly to be sure. My anger was creeping back into my belly, a lump forming in my throat.

"Olivia…" He sighed. "It isn't worth it."

Looking back, maybe he had been talking about something else. Maybe he had been addressing something about the conversation in his totally cryptic way. Maybe he had been warning me. But, he had struck my one and only nerve. "Of course it's worth it, Will. My god. Have you ever _been_ in love?"

His eyes narrowed fiercely and he got up suddenly and walked away from the table, right under the arch, and right out the door. It shut with a loud slam and people looked up and around, the quiet solace of the café now broken. A few people turned to look at me.

My face was red and tears of frustration were stinging the corners of my eyes. I was on my feet as soon as my mind had processed everything. I, too, slammed that stupid door shut behind me. The rain had thankfully ceased and there was steam rising from the street, which was warm from last week's spell of good weather. I caught sight of him about a quarter of a block down, heading in the direction of his loft. I ran after him and, fuelled by some marvellous combination of rage, determination and want, caught up with him in seconds.

"So, that's how it is then?" I spat. "You do this all the time, then? Bring women home for your pleasure, all the while locking your heart away?"

It hit me then, the extreme stupidity of my actions last weekend. I had taken a risk, and quite a large one, that I thought had been in the name of love. _Love_. What a fool I had been. What a poor decision. I could have yet to face the consequences of that few minutes on the floor, and I'd be totally alone in doing that considering Will's inability to connect with other human beings. "Fuck, Will. What if…" I grabbed his arm and he finally stopped and turned to me. "What if I'm pregnant? What if you gave me some kind of…disease?"

He raised one eyebrow condescendingly and scoffed at me. Actually scoffed! "You have nothing to worry about," he said evenly. "Trust me."

"Trust you?" Now it was my turn to scoff angrily at him. I was edging very close to hysterics. "What reason have you given me to _trust _you? You refuse to love. How can you be trusted?"

He looked at me through narrow, dark eyes and wrenched his arm free of my grasp. "Other people can depend on me to do what is right and necessary. That's just good business. Love, on the other hand, is nothing worth fighting for," he hissed, his voice an agitated whisper.

"Love is the only thing worth fighting for," I hissed right back at him.

"You don't know anything about love. It's not worth—"

"Then what shall we fight for?"

He looked at me for a long moment after I said it, but he didn't answer. He just stared at me with his old eyes, all sorts of burning resentment in them. He turned suddenly, shoved his hands in pockets and walked away. I was too exhausted, too defeated and too angry to follow him. Fine. Walk away, Will. If you lock your heart away, you're sure to lose it.

I turned to go back to campus and it began to rain again. As it pelted down, soaking me to the bone, my anger washed away with it. It was then that I was aware that under the anger, the desire was still there. Even after all of that, even after the awful things he's said, I still wanted him. Or something. I wanted something. Maybe it hadn't been him. Maybe it could be someone else. I didn't want it to be someone else, but maybe it would have to be. I sighed and resolved to track Rob down in the hopes that he was still interested. It wasn't Rob, I knew that, but he'd distract me at the very least. I sighed and pulled Will's coat around me.

Wait. _Will's_ coat. I still had Will's coat.

Well, I thought to myself. I would just have to go back to his loft and give it back to him. After all, I wouldn't want anything distracting me. I turned to the direction Will had come from and walked slowly. I'd let him have a head start. Let him get home and calm down. Then, we could talk.

I walked slowly, considering exactly what I would say. It was a difficult thing to balance surely. An awkward situation, without a doubt. I had to convince myself, _really_ convince myself, that Will was a bad idea between where I was and Will's loft. That was it. Of course, his display this afternoon would inevitably make that a lot easier.

_Everything_ now pointed to "no". Everything left over from last week, all of those terrifying moments and unanswered questions, had led me here. I guess I knew all along that it would. I had been reading the situation correctly all along; I had just let some nagging feeling that was buried deep in my gut guide me, rather than my own logical perception. Some stupid, naïve feeling that I translated as deep and serious love. Love was out there, I was sure of it, but this wasn't it. It absolutely burned me. Now, the nagging, magnetic love feeling had mutated into this intense desire to have the last word with him. To really drive my point home, then tell him, for real this time, to have a nice life.

The rain started to let up a little bit, changing into a constant mist that seemed to come from every direction. As I walked through the little droplets that seemed to be suspended in midair, I thought of what I had to say to him. Perhaps, I could bring up his loft. Why didn't it contain anything personal? Why was there nary a picture on the wall or a grocery list in the kitchen? What did he have to hide? Absolutely shameful, that was; hiding oneself away from the world. Refusing to own up to things. Refusing to love. Refusing to love is like refusing to _live_. There was nothing naïve about that. It was a simple truth. Perhaps he was the one who was lying to himself. Perhaps I would tell him that, and in no uncertain terms.

I continued to walk slowly. From where I was, I had a clear view of the ocean. I was comforted by how seemingly infinite it was. A representation of the possibilities I hadn't yet considered. There was something for me after this and I knew that. I sighed and kept walking. If he couldn't love, that closed the book anyway. I suppose that comforted me a little as well. There was really nothing to war over.

The fog was lifting, though the mist somehow kept right on going. I took a deep breath, feeling far calmer. There was no need for me to yell and scream at him. No need to pick a battle with someone I wasn't going to spend any more time with anyway. I would just hand him his coat, apologize, let him know that I couldn't…sustain anything with him. I would feel better for it. He would feel better for it, too. The world would be a better place.

I turned the corner onto Will's street. The same gang of old lads was still there, still sneering at me. I held my head high and walked right past them. I wouldn't be coming this way again. This place scared me less in this moment. It didn't hold the same kind of uncertainty. I took a deep breath and paused as I approached Will's building. This was it. I had the strength to move on. I marched forth.

But, as I passed the windows that looked out at the sea, I couldn't help myself, could I? I think it was human nature that caused me to have to look inside windows when I walked by them, and this particular moment was no exception. But, inside this particular window, I saw Will. Will wasn't alone, oh no. Should I have expected him to be? Shouldn't I have considered his tendency to self-medicate by using other people? But there he was, kissing the strange and beautiful woman from the textile shop; her hands were on his face as she sort of twisted her body against him seductively. His hands were at his sides, like he wasn't…it didn't look like…but…

Suddenly, all the strength and resolve I had saved up was gone. Gone. Just like that. All I felt, as I watched Will kiss that alarmingly beautiful woman, was pain. He wasn't mine. I had, in fact, just convinced myself that I didn't want him. So why then was my resolve replaced with _pain_?

For a moment, I stood there and watched with wide eyes, just drinking in the insult that had been added to injury. The rain had started again. Just brilliant. Then, I found myself, shook my head and bolted. I ran for all I was worth, trying to run from the pain or just work it off, I couldn't be sure. And there were those unshed tears again. Damn them. Damn him. Damn it all.

So, I had my answer, didn't I? I tried to focus on everything I had decided on my way over. I tried to find that resolve I had built up. I would go home, have some tea, find Gwen and chat with her. Then, I would find Rob, even though I really, deep down, didn't want to. I would do something fun. Hit up a club. Everything would be ok. Everything would be fine.


End file.
